Anamnesis
by Aurora West
Summary: The Vorta, Weyoun tells us, used to be quite different than what they are today. Well, yes—and no. After all, how do you tell the whole truth about yourself when you're not even quite sure what the whole truth is?
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: _Star Trek__: Deep Space Nine_ is the property of Paramount.

Author's note: Through seven seasons of _Deep Space Nine_, we learned a few pertinent facts about the Vorta. Their eyesight is poor. Their hearing is good. They can taste nothing but kava nuts and rippleberries, two foods presumably native to their home planet. They are genetically programmed to view the Founders as gods. We were even given two different versions of how the Vorta became part of the Dominion.

But I've always wanted to give the Vorta a history and culture of their own, more than just hints and misinformation. This story, which, in some form or another, has been in my mind for ten years, is my attempt to do that.

* * *

Anamnesis

Memory is deceptive because it is colored by today's events. —Albert Einstein

My predecessor was the fourth incarnation of our noble progenitor. I'm the fifth. —Weyoun Five, Ties of Blood and Water

_anamnesis: recollection of the Ideas, which the soul had known in a previous existence_

**60,064 (Kurillian Calendar)**

**Ca. AD 359 (Terran Calendar)**

Cool air vented gently on her humanoid form as she inspected the chamber, causing the fabric of her garment—her biomimetic cells, imitating the cloth—to billow. Behind her, the First and Second paced silently into position, their rifles held ready in case any of the bodies at her feet stirred. This world had precious few methods in place for eradication, and though she knew the effectiveness of the Jem'Hadar chemical weapons, she was mindful of the fact that only a few tests had been performed to determine the efficacy of the gas on this species.

All across the planet, the Jem'Hadar were performing similar checks in each of the facilities that had been set up for this procedure. She imagined that they were all as silent as this one, the only sounds coming from the air re-circulators and the quiet sounds of the Jem'Hadar. A deathly hush pervaded the entire planet, devoid, suddenly, of its dominant species, left entirely to the small wild things.

There was a stirring below her and she looked down. At first, she saw nothing. Perhaps it had been the dragging of her clothing on the ground. Mimicking Solid garments was something she'd grown used to over the centuries, but it could still surprise her in little ways. For a minute, she stayed where she was, holding perfectly still and staring down at the floor, covered in motionless bodies. There was, still, nothing. And then her patience was rewarded—a slight movement, there, half a meter from her feet.

The Founder knelt slowly next to the feebly stirring form and studied it for a moment. Small, unformed compared to the others—_child_, she recognized. There would be no more of those for this people.

The child's eyes opened, staring blankly, the pupils moving sluggishly, but gradually they settled on her face and seemed to focus. The Founder looked into its face, its pale skin mottled, no doubt from the gas, its black hair disheveled. Then, she stood up. "This one is still alive," she said to the First, in the language of the Dominion. "Eliminate it."

She didn't move as the Jem'Hadar approached and aimed his rifle, watching the child as it watched her. Its mouth opened soundlessly and the Founder stared impassively into its eyes; bright, bright purple and wide open.

Then a blast of disruptor energy discharged from the First's rifle, striking the child squarely in the chest. The eyes and mouth remained open but the jaw went slack as death overtook the child. For another moment, she stared at it, and then she turned to the Second, who was completing his check of the room. "Were any others left alive?"

"No, Founder," the Second said. "Just the scientist."

Suddenly, and as if on cue, she heard the sound of footsteps, and she turned to see a man framed in the doorway, his eyes wide with shock and horror. "Ah," she said, switching to this world's language, "how timely. I trust the procedure went smoothly?"

The man couldn't seem to stop staring at the still bodies of his people, strewn around her feet where they'd collapsed as the gas had poisoned and asphyxiated them. Finally, he tore his eyes—purple, like the child's—away from the sight and met hers for a fleeting second, then looked downwards towards his own feet. "Exactly as planned. The DNA samples and memory extractions are all packed and ready for transport."

She nodded. "Good. You've done well."

He bowed. "It has been my honor to serve you, Founder."

For the first time, she lifted the corners of her mouth slightly upwards—a smile, a movement which felt odd on this humanoid face. "And that is an honor that you shall continue to have. However, I'm afraid it won't be in this form."

The man looked confused. "Forgive me, but—I…thought we'd be returning to your ship?"

"_We_ will be returning to our ship," she said, seeing no need to carry on this charade. The emphasis in her tone left no doubt that he would not be among them.

"But…" He was struggling to retain the respect in his voice and on his face as it gave way to panic. "…you—you promised…in return for my help gathering the DNA samples, the re-sequencing…"

"We have already kept the greatest promise to your people that could ever be made," she cut across him smoothly. "_Promises_ were needed to ensure your loyalty. That will no longer be necessary."

The respect fled entirely from his face, replaced by a dawning understanding, and he whirled frantically to exit the chamber, only to find the Second blocking his way.

"I am certain your clones will be excellent and faithful servants of the Dominion," she said, then signaled to the Second. There was no time for the man to run, and the disrupter blast dropped him where he stood. The body fell heavily onto another, smoke from the wound swirling upwards in eddies from the re-circulated air. Her gaze immediately swung back up and towards the First. "Gather the genetic material and the schematics for the cloning facilities," the Founder ordered. "I do not wish to be here when the orbital bombardment begins."


	2. Chapter 1

1

Eleven years earlier

**60,053 (Kurillian Calendar)**

**Ca. AD 348 (Terran Calendar)**

* * *

"Who is she?"

"Who?"

Weyoun swiveled in his chair to face Deimos again, who was sipping his too-hot mug of _kava_. The look of careful disinterest on his friend's face was too transparent. "That beautiful woman that just walked by. I've never known you to not be aware of one of those if she's in the immediate vicinity, so tell me: who is she?"

Deimos made a great show of craning his neck to get a glance at the woman as she ambled past the canteen. "Oh, her." He took another sip of _kava_ while Weyoun resisted the urge to turn around again. "Miss Arethoi, you mean."

"Yes, I suppose I do."

Finally giving up on the _kava_, Deimos set it down on the table. Steam poured from it, wafting towards the doors in the draft from the re-circulated air vents they were sitting beneath. "Eris Arethoi. She's the new anthropology consultant on the Hellad hearing."

This piece of information temporarily distracted Weyoun. "_New_ consultant? What happened to Felgron?"

Shrugging, Deimos replied, "His work was unsatisfactory."

Weyoun went back to his breakfast, the typical greasy collection of vegetables that was the Capitol Complex canteen's standard fare. It seemed greasier than normal this morning, as though the kitchen staff had run out of vegetables and supplemented the meal with extra oil. "It was, though I wasn't complaining. We were going to win with him speaking for your noble cause."

Deimos smiled wickedly. "And now you're going to lose. Miss Arethoi is far superior to Felgron."

Weyoun risked a glance over his shoulder at the spot he'd last seen her. The young Vorta woman had worn her hair in the masculine style that was becoming increasingly popular among Tira City women—short, and allowed to curl into a pile atop her head—and beneath it her features had been delicate and pointed. Of course she was long gone by now. "She's quite young," Weyoun remarked.

"Yes, which is why you'll lose. She's quite young and quite _brilliant_; she's supervising the excavation in the Hellad district where you want to build your shopping center."

Weyoun pushed a _dulma_ leaf around on his plate with his fork, sopping up grease, hiding his surprise by studying his food. "You managed to get the supervisor for the entire excavation to sit in the hearing? Every day for the foreseeable future? What did you offer her?"

The steam from the mug of _kava_ had slowed from a torrent to a trickle, and Deimos picked it up and took another swallow of it. "Nothing. She just seems, for some reason, to feel quite strongly that a shopping center shouldn't be built on an archaeological site. Anyway, they can't excavate during the monsoon. All they can do is cover everything up and wait for next year's dry season."

"Hm. How fortunate for you." His mind whirred for a moment; had Soltoi been aware of this development, or had the senator been surprised with the news this morning when she'd arrived at her offices? She surely knew now, or Deimos wouldn't be telling him any of this—as Senator Soltoi's senior aide, Weyoun should have known and informed her already. But Deimos's office had done a good job of keeping the thing under wraps. "And it isn't _my_ shopping center."

"No, you're only fighting to have it built."

Weyoun pushed his plate away and bolted down half a glass of water, washing some of the grease down. "I get quite enough of this argument during the hearing, thanks. Can't we find something else to discuss?"

"Like Miss Arethoi," Deimos suggested in an innocent tone.

With a snort of laughter, Weyoun got to his feet. "Yes, speaking of, I need to see Soltoi about that. You could've given me a day's warning, at least."

Deimos leaned back in his chair, looking smug. "Oh, no—we wanted to pull the rug right out from underneath Senator Soltoi."

"I could lose my job," Weyoun mused.

Waving a dismissive hand, Deimos replied, "Soltoi couldn't function without you."

"No, I'm her favorite scapegoat," Weyoun said, knowing that he wouldn't have been able to say it with such fond amusement if Deimos hadn't been right. He finished the rest of his glass of water and grabbed his plate from the table. "See you this afternoon at the hearing."

* * *

Weyoun Uldron, twenty-seven, born and raised in Kurill's capital, Tira City, was the most ambitious young political aide in the Capitol Complex. His career was not the most important thing to him—it was the _only_ thing, the reason that he spent upwards of seventeen hours a day in the Complex, the reason his fifteenth storey, city center flat was still only half-furnished after years of living there. He wasn't alone in the long hours. The canteen served twenty-five hours a day to accommodate all the other aides and lower-level politicians putting in long days. But none of his peers had risen as far and as fast as he had—most of his classmates from university that had taken the political path were still toiling as runners, while he was in the upper echelons of Council administration.

Senator Ara Soltoi, recognizing his ambition, had hand-picked him and made him one of the best political aides in the Complex, as well—because she tolerated nothing less than that. She was one of the most eminent senators in the Council; Tira City's senior senator, a six-termer who controlled more of Tira Exarchate than the governor himself; and she was currently glowering over a padd as it scrolled through Arethoi's credentials.

"I didn't find out they'd brought her on until I got here this morning," Soltoi scowled, her eyes scanning the padd. Her gray hair sat stiffly on her shoulders in rolls and her eyebrows were drawn together. She looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. "Normally I'd be extremely displeased with you, but I didn't even get word of this from my friends in other offices."

Weyoun tried to read the scrolling text upside down, though he really had no hope. "Public opinion is turning against our position, Senator. Your friends may not have wanted to pick the losing side."

"You think we're the losing side, do you?"

Shrugging, he replied, "I don't _currently_ think so. But I also don't think it's out of the question."

Soltoi steepled her fingers on her gleaming desk. "I read their tapping of Arethoi as an indication that they think _they_ are losing."

With a small, mirthless smile, he replied, "They were, with Felgron. But I think Arethoi will be both more convincing and more sympathetic."

"Do _you_ find her sympathetic, Mr. Uldron?"

Soltoi was giving him that beady look that demanded the right answer—not the truth, but the response that would buy her aides another day in her good graces. "I haven't spoken to her," Weyoun answered honestly. "She's young; that could work against her."

"She's the youngest anthropologist to ever have led an excavation at such a major site," Soltoi informed him. "She was top of her class at Mikrath University. She's got published works in all of the leading anthropological and archaeological journals and she's received several very prestigious fellowships."

"Then perhaps it won't."

"It's possible that it will," Soltoi allowed, "but I believe it's more likely that with the combination of her youth and her accomplishments, we run the risk of turning her into a martyr figure. And we mustn't forget that the majority of the Council voting body is male." She fixed him with that beady look again. "I certainly hope that I don't notice a difference along gender lines in the way my own aides handle this change of personnel."

"Your point is well taken," Weyoun murmured.

Soltoi scrolled to the bottom of the padd with a tap of her fingers, then looked up at him. "Did you get a sense from your friend Deimos about whether or not Arethoi will be ready to present today?"

"Not particularly. I would suspect she is. Deimos is fully aware of what he's up against and I doubt he'd allow her to go into the hearing without being fully prepared." He paused, then added, "Besides, it sounds as though poise isn't something she worries much about."

"Well, it isn't something we worry very much about in this office, either." Soltoi put down the padd with a crisp click. "Study them today. I want you to pay attention to how Arethoi's presence affects their case. And we'll need a way to limit her effect on the hearing."

Weyoun bowed his head and then got to his feet. The opening of the day's proceedings was only a few hours away and he had plenty to prepare.

* * *

If Deimos and the science lobby, by some odd lapse in judgment, _had_ thought they'd have time to ease their new anthropology consultant into the hearings, they were wrong. Arethoi was targeted immediately. One of Soltoi's other aides, a woman who'd been in the office several years longer than Weyoun, took the bulk of the examination, with Soltoi herself standing up towards the end of the session to hammer home their points.

Weyoun just watched. Arethoi didn't blink, not in the face of repetitive, circular questioning, not in the face of Soltoi, who could, and would, ruin the careers of those who crossed her. At the end of the session, as the gloomy monsoon light deepened to true night, as media approached Arethoi and the science lobby circled around her, he could only draw one conclusion: Deimos was right, and Soltoi was going to lose this hearing.

He slept in his office for the next week, and then only when he was near collapse. Clothes could be laundered in the lavatory sinks, and he kept extras in his desk, anyway. No one was in a good mood—it was abysmally obvious that the tide had turned, and Weyoun's prediction that public opinion would fall to Arethoi seemed to be playing out, as more and more protesters began gathering inside the Capitol Complex atrium every day in support of the science lobby.

Hellad was one of the oldest of Tira City's districts, settled, as academic opinion went, some four thousand years ago by ancient tribes. It and its twin, Tir, just across the river that flowed through Tira City, formed the historic heart of the capital, around which the rest of the city had grown up. Construction work and sporadic excavations had turned up ample evidence that the area had been settled long before the city's traditional founding date.

It was survey work on the Hellad Metro Center, a massive, multi-use structure to be built on slum neighborhoods recently reclaimed by Yelar Industries, that turned up the impetus for the entire hearing—a stone projectile. An arrowhead. Of course the university student working construction through the dry season had no idea what it was, but through a few simple twists of fate it ended up in the hands of a professor of anthropology at Tira University. There, it was discovered that this particular projectile had no known antecedents, and through thermoluminescence dating it was further determined that the projectile was _old_—far older than anything else anyone had ever seen. Sixty-thousand years old, to be as precise as the dating method allowed.

In other words, it was from the time that the Founders, their gods, had come to Kurill.

Survey work was halted, construction indefinitely postponed, and the site became a huge excavation run by Tira University. It was supposed to take a year. It had been going on for three. Yelar Industries, becoming increasingly impatient as it waited to construct Hellad Metro Center, had filed an order to cease excavation. Tira University had refused and had the Capitol science lobby on their side. Senator Ara Soltoi's political campaigns, and office, heavily funded by Yelar Industries, had become involved.

Vorta were religious people who knew their own origins well and didn't need to sift through layers of rotting vegetation, mud, and clay to find them. They were, to say the least, not anthropologically minded—one reason that Soltoi's office had been handily winning the hearing, because it was so difficult to find an anthropologist who knew Hellad. Working there was a bureaucratic nightmare, and so most in the field chose other sites. Felgron, Arethoi's predecessor, had been one of those people who had sporadically excavated in Tira City, more from personal interest than any deep desire to further the scholarship. Arethoi, on the other hand, _did_ have that desire, and apparently she didn't care about the difficulties of working there.

Watching her, Weyoun wondered if she didn't _relish_ them instead. She'd been made supervisor of the entire excavation six months previously. And she knew everything that there was to know about the site. She walked the perfect line between detachment and passion that Felgron had so struggled with. She obviously _was_ brilliant. And Weyoun was completely infatuated with her.

He had never been shy, but the simple ability to walk up to her and say hello eluded him. And so he did the humiliating thing—he went to Deimos.

"Introduce me to her," Weyoun said as they sat down to breakfast.

It had been eight days, almost two weeks, since Arethoi's introduction into the hearing, though four of them had been spent in recess. For a moment, Deimos stared at him, looking as though his birthday had come early. Then, evidently seeing something on Weyoun's face—probably the unabashed and mildly pathetic helplessness at the idea of speaking to a beautiful, intelligent woman who was cropping up in his mind with alarming regularity—Deimos planted his elbows on the table and looked at Weyoun seriously. "Are you sure? She doesn't think highly of Senator Soltoi."

"I'm not the senator."

"I apologize for my lack of precision. She doesn't think highly of Senator Soltoi, her staff, or their roles in this hearing."

"Or Tira natives or men who live in fifteenth storey flats, I'm sure," Weyoun replied sarcastically. "Deimos, you can have, and _have_ had, any woman you want who walks through the Capitol doors."

"And any man, for that matter."

"Yes, exactly my point. Let me have a chance with this one, would you?"

"I had no idea you felt so threatened by me."

"I don't. But I know how persistent you are, and you're spending every day with her, after all."

Deimos appraised him, looking amused. "You know she's too good for you."

"I know. I've read Soltoi's briefing on her."

Nodding, Deimos said sympathetically, "She's too good for all of us, really. But if you want to make a fool out of yourself, I'm always happy to facilitate that."

Weyoun clapped him on the shoulder. "I knew I could count on your sadism, if nothing else."

"It's not sadism, it's just my delightful sense of humor," Deimos replied. "I'll detain her after the hearing. Tell her my charming friend would desperately like to make her acquaintance."

"Don't tell her I'm charming," Weyoun said warningly. "You'll only set me up for failure."

Deimos snorted. "Why Weyoun, you're selling yourself short. You're utterly charming. _Brilliantly_ charming."

"Tell her I'm slightly dull, that way I can't do anything but impress her."

"Unless she likes dull men." After swallowing a mouthful of _kava_, Deimos remarked, "Not that it's any of my business, but I doubt Soltoi would think much of you lusting after the enemy."

Weyoun raised an eyebrow. "Deimos, I don't know what you're talking about. I simply want to get a better sense of a political opponent by speaking with her personally."

With a grin, Deimos responded, "I'd believe that myself, you know—if I hadn't seen the way you watch her."

"I'm not that obvious, am I?"

"No. I've just known you for a long time."

It had, in fact, been over ten years that they'd known each other, from their very first day as first years at Tira University. Though their temperaments were very different, they had remained, through the years, one another's closest friends. Despite his facetiousness, Deimos understood: sometimes there was a woman that was impossibly out of one's league—and it didn't matter.

That day was the first since Arethoi's arrival that Soltoi's team came out ahead in the hearing, and as a result, the hearing chamber cleared faster than it normally would have. Everyone was eager to get back to work. Weyoun took his time gathering his notes and various padds until all of his colleagues had disappeared back upstairs or to the canteen. As he descended from the balcony and made his way towards the chamber doors, Deimos caught his eye and nodded almost imperceptibly. Hoping he didn't look too much as though he'd been living in his office, Weyoun approached his friend and the slender woman with whom he was conversing.

"Ah, Weyoun, there's someone I'd like you to meet," Deimos proclaimed in an overly effusive tone. Arethoi looked around and met Weyoun's eyes as he stopped between them, and Deimos went on, "I'm sure the two of you are at least _aware_ of each other, of course. Eris, this is my dear friend Weyoun Uldron. Weyoun, Eris Arethoi."

Weyoun offered her his hand but for a moment, she just stared at him. "You work for Soltoi," Arethoi said, her tone cool. Nevertheless, after another moment, she gave him her hand in the brief clasp of polite greeting.

"Yes," he replied. In certain situations it would have been advantageous to mention how closely he worked with the senator, but every social cue here blared at him to do the opposite.

Arethoi was studying him. "You sit at her right side. You must be very important."

"Weyoun is Soltoi's senior aide," Deimos broke in, perhaps sensing Weyoun's hesitation.

Arethoi wasn't being exactly openly hostile, but she certainly wasn't being friendly, and Weyoun didn't appreciate the unsolicited assistance. Resisting the urge to glare at his friend, he said, "I suppose that puts us at professional opposition to one another."

That brought a sardonic smile to her face. "_That_ is a very politic way of putting it. You're responsible for the entire case. Or does Senator Soltoi's office function differently than the others in this building?"

"No," he admitted, "I'm the one responsible for most of our case."

There was a slightly imperious tilt to her chin. "I imagine it must be very difficult stringing together enough dissonant arguments to convince others that an important anthropological site should be destroyed in the name of commercial and political interests."

Despite the chill in her tone, Weyoun couldn't help liking her even more than he'd already been inclined to. "Actually no," he replied. "One doesn't get to my position without being something of an expert on dissonance."

"Hm. At least you admit it."

"All political discourse is an exercise in balancing conflicting viewpoints, Miss Arethoi." Weyoun raised an eyebrow at her. "You'll do it yourself if you haven't already in this hearing."

"Is that what you think I'm participating in, Mr. Uldron? Political discourse?"

He shrugged. "You have a certain skill for saying the most effective thing, regardless of whether or not it's the full truth of a matter."

Arethoi rocked back on her heels and tilted her head again. Neither of them said anything for a moment and the corridor gradually emptied. Her eyes were a lavender shot through with blue that made his stomach flip a little. "You seem very young to have been put in such a powerful position," she remarked after a moment, her eyes scanning his face.

"Likewise," he replied, trying to distill something from her study of him. "Though having read your credentials, I must say it seems deserved."

"You'll forgive me if I haven't read yours."

"Of course; I don't imagine you have the time to read the résumé of every aide you'll encounter during this hearing."

"No." She looked mildly intrigued now, which was certainly better than her cool hostility. Her eyes found his, and the only emotion he could read there was an arch amusement. Raising her eyebrows, she said, "But maybe I'll need to make the time to read yours." She bowed her head slightly—maybe a bit ironically, and Weyoun returned the gesture. "It was a pleasure meeting you."

"The pleasure was entirely mine," he replied, which earned him a brief, probing look from her before she turned and departed.

When she was out of earshot, Deimos made a noise in his throat. Weyoun had almost forgotten he was there. "Well," his friend remarked, "whether she likes you or hates you, she certainly knows who you are now."

* * *

The hearing dragged on for weeks. Some in the Capitol Complex, particularly Soltoi's allies, had dared to hope that it was coming to an end, but with Arethoi, the science lobby re-animated their case, dragged old arguments back into the light, and more often than not, won them. Hearings were enjoyable when they lasted two to three weeks, even four, but Tira City/Hellad District-3a was coming up on seven, with no end in sight. It may have been more fun for the science lobby as they were, after all, winning, but even they appeared worn down by the process.

One day, the Adjudicator was unexpectedly called away, cancelling the day's proceedings. Weyoun, unable to stare at the same padd any longer, made his way to the canteen for lunch. Once there, he found Deimos and Arethoi seated together, deep in conversation. He hesitated for a moment but then approached the table.

Deimos spotted him before he got there and pushed a chair out for him. "I wondered when you'd get here."

"I'm not as governed by my appetite as you are," Weyoun replied as he sat down. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Arethoi smile slightly. Turning to her, he said, "I hope I'm not interrupting."

Inclining her head, she said, "No. In fact, I can leave if the two of you would prefer to eat lunch without an interloper."

"That's all right," Deimos said mildly. "I'm sure Weyoun would be delighted to make your acquaintance better. He doesn't have the pleasure of your company every day."

Arethoi watched as he settled himself and he tried not to look directly at her. "Though Mr. Uldron doesn't mention that himself," she said.

Weyoun gave her a sardonic smile. "Deimos is speaking for others? That's a shock."

"Are you agreeing or disagreeing with him?"

"Agreeing, of course, Miss Arethoi."

Her lips curved upwards. "The feeling's mutual, if I may say so. You're very…thorough in your preparations for the hearing. It's impressive. I've been meaning to speak further with you for several weeks now."

Deimos took a drink of _kava_, raising his eyebrows. "You're lucky, Weyoun; you've obviously piqued her interest far more than I have."

Arethoi rested her elbows on the table and arched one eyebrow. "Oh, Deimos, you just try too hard."

"If I was really trying, you wouldn't look twice at _him_."

"And you eat with him _every_ day?" Arethoi asked Weyoun, smiling a little slyly at him.

Weyoun leaned towards her. "Generally only one meal."

She laughed and Deimos rolled his eyes good-naturedly. After a moment, Arethoi said, "I'm curious about something, Mr. Uldron."

"Yes?"

She sighed and put down her fork. "You obviously put a great deal of time and effort into your work. Presumably it means something to you." She paused, then asked with an intensity that he hadn't seen from her before, "I understand how a person like Soltoi could fight for something like Hellad Metro Center—she directly gains from helping Yelar Industries. But the benefits are much less tangible for you. So how can you possibly think that a _shopping center_ is more important than the early history of our people?"

Weyoun let the pause after this question lengthen, mostly for the effect, but partly because he wanted to say the right thing—and not just the right thing for a man in his position, but the right thing for _him_ to say to Arethoi. "What I personally think doesn't matter," he replied, knowing that this would strike a chord within her, as it would any Vorta. Climb high enough in the professional world and your personal opinion mattered—but to anyone else, loyalty to one's employer—one's _benefactor_—was tantamount.

All the passion in her tone abruptly receded, and she tilted her head at him. He didn't think it was his imagination—she seemed to be looking at him differently. "I suppose you have a point," she said, then, after a hesitation, added, "And I don't suppose there's any chance of you telling me what you personally think."

"None at all," he replied pleasantly. He glanced at Deimos, who was sitting back, just watching the two of them. When he looked back to Arethoi, she was studying him intently, and there was definitely something he'd never seen before in her eyes—some kind of…surprise, or interest, which she quickly shrouded behind the lavender penumbra of her irises.

"I apologize," she said, bowing her head slightly. "I didn't mean to commandeer your lunch with this."

He nearly assured her that it wasn't a problem—that he didn't see it as commandeering at all, when he realized that she was excusing herself gracefully; a realization that was backed up by Deimos's silence on the subject. "See you later," Deimos said to her as she got to her feet. "We'll go over that soil core evidence when I'm finished."

She nodded, then flicked her eyes towards Weyoun. "It was nice speaking with you again, Mr. Uldron."

He inclined his head and watched her as she walked away, dumping her plate and glass in the cleaning bin as she left. In the doorway to the canteen, she hesitated and seemed to start to glance over her shoulder towards them, but then she stopped herself, set her shoulders, and continued on her way.

Deimos hadn't changed positions during any of this, except to cross his arms over his chest. "Weyoun," he said seriously, "I think she likes you."

Weyoun scoffed. "And how, exactly, did you come to that conclusion based on that brief and fairly adversarial conversation?"

With a shrug, Deimos replied, "Because she's genuinely interested in your misguided opinion."

"Maybe she was just making conversation."

"Eris doesn't 'make conversation'. She has better things to do."

"The two of you seem to get along," Weyoun observed.

Deimos gestured dismissively. "Animal magnetism. Everyone gets along with me." Weyoun snorted and Deimos went on, "If she wanted to make conversation she'd make it about anything else. As you've noted yourself, she's an accomplished politician for an anthropologist. Anyway, don't you _want_ her to like you?"

Weyoun didn't answer as he stared at the open doorway through which Arethoi had disappeared. "Do you think," he said instead, slowly, "that she'd laugh if I asked her to have a drink with me?"

"Only if you catch her in a good mood," Deimos said with a crooked grin. When Weyoun deadpanned a laugh, he asked, "You're not seriously thinking of doing that while you're both involved in this hearing?"

"Of course not." Weyoun folded his hands in front of him on the table. "But when the hearing's over—despite all the current evidence to the contrary, I have to believe that it _will_ end one day—what do you think?"

"I think if you don't manage to alienate her before the hearing's over, she'll say yes," Deimos said, as though this was painfully obvious. "And if you take her out and _make_ her laugh, she might even be interested in seeing you further."

"Well, one thing at a time. As you say, I need to get through the hearing without alienating her, first."

* * *

"You ate lunch with Arethoi yesterday."

Weyoun, surprised by the voice, looked up from the padd on his desk towards the door. It was late at night and he'd thought he was the only one still in the office, but Soltoi was standing there, her arms crossed over her chest. Lowering the padd, he replied, "You could call it that, I suppose. She was eating with Deimos Ekron. I just joined them."

Soltoi nodded and stepped inside, closing the door after herself and making a slow circuit of Weyoun's small office, bedecked with curios and mementos from the various hearings he'd worked on. "I find myself curious as to the subject of your conversation."

He furrowed his brow slightly as he watched her, and then he shrugged. "Nothing. We were making small-talk. Fairly vacuous small-talk, at that." He considered it nothing of the sort, but he hadn't needed Deimos's warning to know that sharing the fact that he had any kind of interest in Arethoi with Soltoi wouldn't be good for his job security. The anthropologist was firmly considered an enemy by Soltoi's staff, as her sole purpose in the Complex was to defeat them.

"Yeroi's impression must have been mistaken. She told me the two of you seemed very intent on your conversation."

"It wouldn't be the first time Yeroi's had a mistaken impression," Weyoun replied dryly. "Anyway, Senator, I believe the phrase 'know thy enemy' applies here."

Soltoi turned her typical hard smile on him. "Mr. Uldron, I know what a good liar you are, and I suspect you're lying now because of it."

He raised his eyebrows. "What reason do I have to lie?"

Her smile didn't falter. "None, I hope."

Weyoun didn't make a habit of lying to Soltoi, but when the need arose, he had no problem in deploying a well-crafted falsehood. Having been a practiced liar since childhood, the only way for her—or anyone—to tell was by judging the plausibility of what he was saying. "If you're concerned about how it looks, of course, I can limit my interactions with Arethoi," he said solicitously.

At that, Soltoi laughed. "You're going to make a fine senator someday, Weyoun. You have all the right qualities."

Without waiting for him to respond, she departed, and Weyoun sat back in his chair, the padd still held loosely in his hands. She'd never come right out and pinned his ambitions on him, and nor had she complimented him quite so highly. There was part of him that knew that what she'd said was a little bit back-handed compliment, but he didn't care. Yes, he _would_ make a fine senator someday, and if he needed to stop speaking to Eris Arethoi for the duration of this hearing, that was a small price to pay.

* * *

He kept his distance from Arethoi for several days, limiting himself to a polite nod in her direction if they passed each other in the corridors. Though it suddenly seemed that they passed each other in the corridors a lot, and that her eyes were on him when he was trying to look elsewhere.

So it was when he passed her one evening as he was returning to his office and she was clearly on her way home. She glanced his way and smiled briefly as she pulled on a jacket, and he returned the smile, actively cursing in his mind, now, that this hearing was continuing to drag on. Arguments and evidence were getting repetitive, and that left aides on both sides of the case scrambling to find whatever it was that the Council voting body was looking for before they made a decision. But the longer it went on, the harder it was to stare at the same economic spreadsheets and scholarly articles.

"Mr. Uldron!"

The shout stopped him, startling him out of his thoughts, and he turned around, surprised to see Arethoi hurrying back towards him. When she reached his side, she stood there for a moment, appraising him. Then, she said, sounding unwilling, "You were right."

"I'm sorry?"

"You were right about the dates of those ice cores."

"Oh." He wracked his brain and remembered—three days ago he'd presented some kind of tangential evidence during the hearing. Arethoi had taken issue with it; brought up a set of ice cores, which he'd just happened, by a chance reading, to know she was quoting the incorrect dating of. The Adjudicator had allowed them to snap citations back and forth at each other for five minutes before putting a stop to it. Afterwards he'd thought nothing of it. He had more important things to think about than the dates of ice cores that didn't ultimately matter. But Arethoi…_had_ thought more of it? "Yes, that's right. Well, I'm sure it will be the only time I better you on the subject."

The words could easily have antagonized her. After all, she was freely admitting error, and no one liked to have their error dangled in their faces during an apology, but she only smiled slightly and shrugged. "Probably. Still, I hated to think of you laboring under a false impression of inaccuracy."

"You're too kind, Miss Arethoi."

"Not at all."

That was the moment that he should have bid her good-night and walked away; instead he continued to stand there, and then something possessed him to say banally, with a nod towards her jacket, "Going home?"

Arethoi smiled, apparently unbothered by this show of idiocy. "Yes, actually. And you're not, if the direction you were walking is any indication. Working late?"

He shrugged. "I always work late. Habit, I'm afraid."

"Is that because there's nothing to make you go home or because you enjoy your work so much?"

"Both."

"Somehow I had a feeling you'd say that."

He smiled, chuckled, and bowed his head ironically. "I'm this predictable and you barely know me. I get the sense that you might find that very boring in a person."

"Actually, I don't find you predictable at all."

This statement brought a slight halt to the conversation, until Weyoun realized that, by design or not, she'd presented him with an opening to ask about her romantic status. The vagueness of the question would depend entirely on if it _had_ been by design or not. In the end, he decided to split the difference, remarking, "Your ability to balance work with the rest of your life is a bit of a foreign concept to all of us."

Arethoi snorted. "I'm afraid I've never really been very good at that balance; I leave here when I do because I can only take the political barrage for so long each day."

"So, does that mean there's nothing to make you go home, either?"

"Just the promise of my own cooking, which isn't much incentive. But at least it's better than your canteen fare."

"The canteen is sadly deficient in a number of areas, the food being only one of them." Weyoun eyed her, knowing she was being circumventive, and knowing that he had been just as much so. It came naturally, he supposed. But maybe the right thing to do here was to try directness. The fact that he wasn't supposed to be having this conversation reared up in his mind just then, but there was something about her—her eyes, or the shape of her lips, or the edge of sardonic amusement in her voice, that kept him rooted to the spot. "If you're asking me whether I'm…_involved_…or not, the answer is no."

She raised an eyebrow and smiled, a sly glint in her eyes. "What a coincidence. Neither am I."

Keeping the wide grin off his face was a lot more difficult than he'd thought it was going to be. As it was, he thought she probably saw the beginnings of it before he dampened it to something more mild, if the way her eyes searched his face for a moment was any indication. He stopped himself from remarking that it was serendipitous and asking her out right there. "Very coincidental."

Arethoi twitched her jacket straight. "Well, Mr. Uldron, I won't keep you from your work any longer."

"No, not at all; I'm sorry for detaining you. You must have a train to catch."

With a shrug, she replied, "The trains will still be running in ten minutes. But I never know when the next time I'll see you will be. Besides across a hearing chamber, that is."

_Any time you want to_, he wanted to say. "Well," he said, inflecting his tone with the right amount of humor, "as I said, I appreciate your thoughtfulness in confirming your error to me." He paused while she smiled. "I'll see you at the hearing tomorrow, Miss Arethoi. Have a nice night."

"You too," she said, her eyes lingering on his for a split second longer than they needed to.

* * *

The following day opened with a discussion that was, somehow, new to the proceedings—Hellad's significance as a religious site. Weyoun steepled his hands on the desk in front of him and called out the science lobby's senior aide for grandstanding—religion was too easy, too transparent.

Most Vorta—Weyoun would even hazard to guess _all_ Vorta, to some extent or another, believed that their gods, the shapeshifting Founders, had come to their world millennia earlier. A wounded Founder had been chased by a group of Vanta (an earlier, Vorta-like species which had since gone extinct), but a primitive Vorta and his family took the Founder in and hid him, after which the Founder promised he would one day return and make the Vorta great. Legend passed down the name of that patriarch as Kurill, giving the name to their planet.

This story was the cornerstone of their faith-—in many ways, a planet-wide culture—and it was laughably easy to play off people's emotions and beliefs. As far as Weyoun was concerned, the science lobby had reached that point, as its senior lobbyist began suggesting that Hellad should be preserved in perpetuity as a cult site. Dating of site materials put it in line with the date of the legend, and the legend itself spoke of the Founder fleeing through a vast forest, which Tira Exarchate had once been blanketed by.

In his opinion, this was a pretty weak hook to hang a case on, but he still wanted to dismantle it before they were able to take it too far. "I'd like to speak with Miss Arethoi about this, please," he announced. There was shifting over on the other balcony and then Arethoi stood and faced him. Weyoun let the noise die down in the chamber before he asked, "Miss Arethoi, are your colleagues really trying to suggest that the Founders' first contact with our ancestors happened in Hellad? That you've found Kurill's home?"

She looked delighted that he'd posed this question to her and he knew instantly that he'd made a mistake. "Of course I'm not, Mr. Uldron," she replied smoothly. "We're not zealots at Hellad, we're anthropologists. We're not trying to prove what we can't. But the discoveries that we _have_ made should be enough to protect the site. Post-holes, hearths, middens, even _graves_—this site is showing us how our ancestors lived and died. We may never find the site where the Founder made his promise to Kurill, but nonetheless, these are the people that he _made that promise to_, and it would be something approaching blasphemy to pave over it with a collection of holo-arcades and the same shops that any of us can visit at a hundred other locations."

The Council voting body signaled suddenly to the Adjudicator and Weyoun felt a momentary iciness grip his heart. That signal meant that they were ready to adjourn and discuss their votes. Sometimes they wanted to hear closing arguments, but sometimes they simply cut hearings off at the knees. Soltoi would murder him if the latter was the case now and that was the last exchange had in this hearing.

Fortunately, the Adjudicator allowed closing statements to be made—not, Weyoun thought, that it was going to matter all that much. Soltoi gave theirs, obviously, and though the effort was admirable, the entire staff knew it was a lost cause. As they began filing down the stairs and out of the chamber, Soltoi gripped his shoulder and said to him in a low tone, "I want you doing damage control. You're best at it."

As they emerged from the chamber, the dull roar of the crowd swelled. Between the moment that the chamber doors first opened, not more than a minute earlier, and now, everyone in it seemed to be aware that the voting body had adjourned and was casting their votes. Soltoi hissed at some of the other staff to smile, an injunction that Weyoun didn't need to be given, as he'd been through this enough times to be giving the instructions himself. Damage control was easy; it was all about distracting the reporters enough with pleasantness that they forgot to get a _real_ story, about twisting actual events around so that what appeared to be a negative thing was actually positive. He _was_ good at it. And it was the only part of losing that could really be enjoyed.

Before he began, though, there was something he wanted to do. Weyoun excused himself from Soltoi's side and shouldered his way through the press of media, aides, runners, and protesters outside the chamber to the other end of the atrium. There, Arethoi was turning away from a 'coder, having given her statement on the hearing's proceedings for the day. Wisely, she was leaving already, letting the science lobby do the bulk of the speaking, though he thought, as she politely looked downwards, that he caught a flicker of triumph in her eyes.

He reached her side as she entered the corridor and she stopped, appraising him coolly. He didn't let her expression deter him. He'd gotten a rather distinct feeling over the past several weeks that, beneath the show that she put on for the benefit of those around them, she liked him. So he held out a hand. "Congratulations, Miss Arethoi."

"We haven't won yet," she replied, and this time the triumph in her eyes was unmistakable. She took his hand, though, the smooth clasp of her palm on his leaving his fingers tingling.

"I think you have," he replied. "Whatever's left of this hearing is a formality."

Her cool expression flickered, revealing it for the façade that it was. "You continue to surprise me, Mr. Uldron. For one of Soltoi's lackeys, you're really quite civilized."

At that, he couldn't help smiling. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"I meant it as one," she replied, sly humor coloring her tone.

For a second, he stared at her eyes, bluer than those of the natives of Tira Exarchate. "You're from the north, aren't you?" he blurted out.

She blinked, taken by surprise, but answered, "Yes, actually. Pegrill. How did you know?"

"Your…" He gestured vaguely, found that he couldn't tell the truth, and finished, "…accent."

"Ah."

Weyoun wouldn't have blamed her for turning and leaving at that point; they had said all that needed to be said to each other. He'd been the gracious loser and she'd been gracious enough to deny her victory, despite its inevitability.

Instead, she tilted her head at him slightly and asked, "You're from here? Tira?"

He caught her gaze. "How did you know?"

She smiled. "Your accent."

And then there was Deimos, his hand on Arethoi's shoulder as he said, "Eris, Channel One wants video for tomorrow's telecast. Hearing chamber three—they wanted something grander than two. Weyoun—" He grinned. "I'll buy you a drink later for losing so gracefully."

Weyoun snorted. "I'm looking forward to it. The expensive place at the top of S-Tech Tower!" he called to Deimos's retreating back.

Deimos waved a hand dismissively as he hurried off, but Weyoun knew that in his ebullience, it probably was the bar he'd have chosen anyway. Arethoi, to his surprise, lingered. Her poise, for a brief moment, looked lost, but she quickly recovered it and said, "I've enjoyed meeting you, Mr. Uldron. And working against you. You've been…" She stopped and smiled slightly, then finished, "You've been a worthy opponent."

"Likewise." In seconds, Weyoun knew, she was going to walk away. "Er, Miss Arethoi?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Yes?"

Standing in front of the fully assembled Council and inventing a speech on the spot wouldn't have been as nerve-wracking as simply asking this woman if she'd see him socially. "Miss Arethoi," he repeated, "I was wondering…er, that is, I'd wondered if you might like to have a drink with me? Sometime?"

The smile that crept onto her face felt like it was bright enough to cut through the monsoon outside. It cut straight through him, at least. "I'd like that very much."

Today should not have been a good day. Weyoun, career-minded and ambitious, had just played a major role in losing an important and influential hearing. He'd probably set back any advancement by months, possibly years. Soltoi might even demote him to a lesser position in her office. Somehow, though, it seemed to him that the victory that was important was this one now; the fact that Eris Arethoi was handing him a card with her home interface line scribbled on the back of it.

"I look forward to hearing from you," she said, then nodded to him briskly and turned around. "Oh, and Mr. Uldron," she said, wheeling to face him again. He raised his eyebrows. "If you're going to take me out for a drink, then I insist that you call me Eris."

He smiled at her, her card clasped tightly in his fingers. "Then call me Weyoun."

"Weyoun," she said softly, as though she was testing the way it felt on her lips. "Yes, I can do that."

He made himself not watch her go as she strode off to the victorious media telecast, and he turned back to the media still gathered outside the chamber doors. On his way, he forced himself to wipe the stupid grin off his face, as 'damage control' required an appropriately bland expression.

Propriety would insist that he wait at least a day before using the number that Miss Arethoi—Eris—had given him. He knew he'd go home early and call her tonight.


	3. Chapter 2

2

**60,053-60,054 (Kurillian Calendar)**

They went out for drinks within the week and managed, to both their credit, Weyoun rather thought, not to talk about the hearing. The official outcome surprised no one—a moratorium had been placed on any construction projects in the Hellad district, and all necessary work would require a thorough excavation and cataloguing of finds prior to ground-breaking. Weyoun _had_ managed to hang onto his position, mostly by virtue of the way he controlled the media narrative post-hearing, though Deimos scoffed that his job was never in jeopardy. Eris—he was getting used to thinking of her as such, instead of by her surname—had asked, and that was the closest they came to discussing their careers.

At the end of the night, they agreed to meet again, which they did, not quite a full week later. There was a rare lull in the rain and hail, so Weyoun hopped off the metro for the last couple blocks and walked to the restaurant where he and Eris were meeting, which was just on the border of the Hellad district. She was waiting outside watching the sky, but when she saw him, she smiled with such unabashed genuineness that his heart raced.

They went in and sat at their table and talked. The prospect of an entire uninterrupted dinner with her was magnificent, and he savored the fact that they had time for decent conversations instead of the stilted chop that occurred without fail at bars.

"So," he asked when their wine arrived, "what is it that you do when you're not slashing through the political ranks with your rapier intelligence?"

She laughed and raised her glass to her lips, taking a sip of the dark rippleberry wine. "I've never heard the political process described in such a swash-buckling way."

"Well, the more thrilling I make it seem, the better of an impression I make," he replied, watching her while trying not to stare. She looked, as usual, beautiful, the dim light of the restaurant shining on her eyes. As on their previous date, she was wearing a high-collared dress—the fashion—which left her arms bare and fell to her knees, and shoes that added several inches to her height so that she was as tall as him.

Eris met his eyes over the rim of her glass, which she kept raised. "I don't think you need to worry about the impression that you're making."

He hadn't been, actually, as it was becoming increasingly obvious to him that by some strange twist of fate, this woman was romantically interested in him, but hearing her say it was a shot that went straight through him. "You know, you should at least let me think I do; otherwise I might stop trying to impress you."

"Oh," she said innocently, "were you trying?"

Weyoun laughed and swallowed a mouthful of wine. "Clearly not hard enough. So. What do you do?"

Setting down her glass, she replied, "I teach at Tira University. I was fortunate enough to be offered a position for the duration of the monsoon, since no one knew how long the hearing would take."

"And what did you do before?"

She looked at him with amused suspicion. "You _must_ know this. I know how thorough political aides need to be."

"Maybe. Humor me, though."

"Before I came to work at Hellad, I taught at Mikrath University in Pegrill."

In truth, he _had_ known all this, but small talk was such an integral part of Vorta culture, and Tira City culture in particular, that it couldn't be dispensed with. "You're an academic through and through, then."

"Oh, very much so."

"Do you mind my asking why you agreed to consult for the Hellad hearing?" Something he didn't know, because no record could tell him, and that he'd been curious about for some time.

She rested her hands on the table. "Because it was important." Tilting her head and narrowing her eyes studiously at him, she added, "When I had just started my anthropology degree at Mikrath University, there was a similar case at one of the university's excavations. No one competent came forward and there's a housing estate there now."

"Ah," he said knowingly, raising an eyebrow, "you're a crusader. A brave champion for the preservation of Kurill's prehistoric sites."

With another laugh, she remarked, "You have a certain flair for making mundane jobs sound gripping."

Inclining his head, he countered, "I have a certain flair for holding people's attention."

"I can't decide if that's one of the most arrogant things I've ever heard or one of the most self-aware."

"Don't decide, then."

She lifted her chin, amusement in her eyes, and said, "I suppose you're going to ask me to wait until we know each other better."

He held her gaze. "Are you implying that you want to get to know me better?"

"Possibly."

The look she gave him as she took another sip of her wine, however, left him in no doubt as to her feelings. Now he needed to start wondering when he could kiss her. Was two dates an inappropriately short amount of time? He had a feeling that it was, but he also had the feeling that if the opportunity presented itself, he wouldn't care, and that Eris might not either.

He realized he was staring at her just as their entrées came and quickly looked down at his utensils, though not before he caught her smile. As they began eating, he asked, "Now that the hearing's over, what are you planning on doing? Five more months at Tira University, and then…?"

Shrugging, she replied, "I may stay here. I miss Pegrill, but there are so many exciting…possibilities here."

Weyoun tried to study her surreptitiously for a moment to see if that statement had held any innuendo. "Hellad, you mean."

"Not just Hellad." She seemed to realize what she'd said and laughed. "So much of Tira is unexplored, I mean. There's been really limited excavation here."

Starting on his meal—a simple bed of honeyed _rusi_ with seared vegetables spread over it; peasant food that had made the jump to haute cuisine—he remarked, "We don't care all that much about what came before us in Tira City."

Eris gave him a probing look. "Ephemera is what's important, then?"

"Sometimes." He looked at her, furrowing his brow thoughtfully. "The past is important because it's something you build on; something you're…better than. Something to improve upon."

"That's the most short-sighted view of history that I've ever heard."

Weyoun grinned. "I'm just distilling the essentials for you."

She shook her head, but there was an irrepressible smile on her face. "And proving why I should stay and work here. Anyway, if I do stay, I think I'd move permanently. It would be much easier to live in Tira City than to maintain a temporary flat here and one in Pegrill."

He wrestled for a moment with the urge to tell her that he, at least, would be extremely happy if she stayed, but in the end didn't. He was infatuated with her, but—well, that just wasn't something that you said to a woman, not on a second date. "You're not worried about a contract extension at Tira University?"

Lowering her eyes, she replied, "It's been one of the advantages of my peers being so…graciously laudatory of my work that I've been able to find gainful employment where I've wanted to." Before giving him a chance to respond, she flashed him a wider smile and asked, "Since we seem to be talking about our jobs, what made you go into politics?"

"I'm from Tira City. Everyone goes into politics in some way or another."

"How glib."

"Well, I have that tendency."

She raised an eyebrow. "I'm sincerely interested. I thought I had you figured out when I first met you, but you're…"

"Disarmingly complex?" he offered.

"…not what I expected," she finished, smiling as he put a melodramatic hand over his heart. "Tell me, why would an intelligent, nice young man devote his life to lying and scheming for political power?"

Weyoun laughed. "We'll have to work on your attitude towards politics." She didn't respond and kept one eyebrow arched, so he asked, leaning across the table towards her, "Do you remember the Clone Protests? About ten years ago?"

"Of course. I was thirteen at the time. I remember watching the telecast feed and worrying that the violence would spread to Pegrill."

Weyoun paused, drew back a little, and looked at her. That made her twenty-three—very, very young for everything that she'd achieved. If he'd been thirteen during the Clone Protests, watching his city tear itself apart, maybe his opinion of the political machine would be more like hers.

He hadn't thought about the Clone Protests for some time. Vorta had been cloning for over a hundred years, long enough that most people thought nothing of it. It was mostly used for agro-industrial purposes, but there were enough Vorta clones that there was nothing unusual about the idea. A Vorta pregnancy was long and difficult—the miscarriage rate was eighty-eight percent for first pregnancies and dropped to just under fifty percent for successive ones. Infertility was common. Vorta physiology was such that surrogacy had proved unfeasible, and in-vitro fertilization was so unreliable that it was rarely attempted anymore. Cloning worked for those wealthy people who couldn't have children but wanted to pass their DNA along to the next generation. While clones could be gestated to any stage of life, it wasn't legal to gestate a Vorta clone past fifteen months (the normal gestation time for a fetus).

_That_ was all well and good. There were groups that took issue with it, claiming the Founders never intended for one individual to lead multiple lives, but they were an insignificant minority, and their qualms were patently ridiculous. Clones may have been a perfect genetic copies, but their personalities were always a product of their environment and as such, were distinct from their progenitors.

The Clone Protests revealed that an insignificant minority, under the right circumstances, could grow to a small, vocal, and violent minority. Some fifteen years ago, scientists had unveiled a sophisticated form of synaptic storage and transfer. It was meant for Vorta who suffered severe brain injuries or from neural diseases. Another obvious application for it was in cloning. Suddenly, the very thing that some people had feared—a sort of immortality; the same personality and memories being passed on to multiple individuals—was possible. Geneticists insisted that it wouldn't happen—after all, gestating clones to adulthood was illegal, and transferring memories into a newborn baby was foolish; a worthless waste of time and research money…though it had surely, somewhere, been done.

Then, ten years ago, the science lobby in the capital had quietly taken on a case that sought to overturn the old legislation prohibiting the gestation of clones past the newborn stage. Rumor had it there'd already been illegal testing of the memory transfer procedure on adult-gestation clones but there was no proof, and the major research centers wanted to do their own tests. It didn't remain quiet for long.

The Capitol Complex exploded as protesters, and inevitably the media, descended on it. The Senate opposition to the legislation was led by one Ara Soltoi, tapping masterfully into religious qualms and societal uneasiness, bringing deep-seated insecurities about the nature of individuality to the fore of the public's mind. The protesters became a mob; the lobbyists, politicians, and scientists inside the Complex were besieged; unable to leave in many cases, because one day those science lobbyists that tried were caught, beaten bloody and half to death, and dragged to Capitol Square. Law enforcement couldn't control the protesters and Kurill had no military because they didn't traffic in that sort of violence. It shook the whole planet profoundly, went on for weeks, and eventually violence spread to a few other regional capitals before the science lobby lost the hearing. The loss was the only thing that disbanded the anarchy, but not before a lobbyist was killed. Officially, the kind of clone that the protesters were so worried about couldn't exist. Unofficially, it surely did; people died alone, with no one to miss them, and if doppelgängers took some of their places before anyone realized they were gone—well, who would know?

Weyoun sat back in his chair. "I was seventeen at the time. The hearing itself tended to get overshadowed by the protests, but it was riveting. So…life or death. _Everyone_ knew about it. Everyone cared."

"That's because science lobbyists were getting beaten in the street," Eris pointed out.

With a fluid shrug, he said, "Yes, but it was more than that. It was politics but it had real ramifications—serious ones—for Kurill." He drank some wine, trying to gauge how it was making him feel. The high alcohol content—Vorta metabolized toxins at a high rate, so anything alcoholic was extremely so—normally didn't affect him, but this wasn't a normal situation for him. He clenched a fist under the table. "I needed to be part of that. It _mattered_."

For a few minutes, the two of them ate in silence, but finally Eris said, "So we're not all that different after all."

He finished off his glass of wine and poured another, refilling her glass as well. "I don't think you would have had dinner with me if you'd really thought we were all that different."

"Maybe not." She took a final bite of her dinner, then pushed the plate away and looked closely at him. "Are you always this confident with women you barely know?"

"Not at all." Raising his glass to her, he added, "It's just the wine."

She snorted with laughter and pursed her lips to disguise a smile. "Deimos said you were charming; he didn't mention that you're funny."

Weyoun put his glass down with a long-suffering roll of his eyes. "I told him not to say that."

"Yes, he told me that too." She laughed at the look on his face. "It's endearing."

"I won't even dignify that with a response." The truth was that in recent years he'd been far too busy for women, and the few casual romances of his university days were long behind him. He was winging this. Anyway, there was something about her that made it easy to move from small-talk to the more personal. He certainly wasn't someone who had trouble maintaining a conversation, but he, like most Vorta, was hesitant to take a conversation past surface superficialities. He felt no such hesitation with Eris, and he was quite sure that that _wasn't_ the wine.

The two of them continued in the same flirtatious vein for another half an hour while they finished off the bottle of wine and shared dessert. When they were done, Weyoun insisted upon paying the bill and she graciously allowed him to. Then the end of the evening was upon them, and they made their way to the front of the restaurant, where they stood, momentarily silent. The skyway leading out of the tower was filled with people, but he turned his eyes to the plaza outside. The pause in the rain was still holding. Turning to her, he asked, "Would you like to go for a walk?"

She glanced at him, one eyebrow arched slightly in surprise. "Outside?" she asked, following the direction of his gaze.

"Why not? The rain seems to be holding off for the moment." He watched her carefully for her reaction—he didn't think she'd decline, but the distinction between her accepting to be polite and accepting because she really wanted to spend more time with him—well, that was important.

There was a small smile on her face. "Yes. Something about this night seems to encourage taking chances, doesn't it?"

He searched her face for a double-meaning to her words and found nothing but studied innocence. "I couldn't have said it better myself," he replied.

The two of them stepped outside into the warm night. The air was heavy and thick with humidity but the air was still. Before it started raining again, the wind would pick up. There was such a distinctive quality to that wind—the deep, hollow sigh of it, its implacability—that no one could ever mistake it and not run for cover.

The monsoon lasted eight and half of Kurill's fourteen month years, striking up and down the planet's single massive continent almost simultaneously. The clouds blew in from the east, off the Ocean, and took a day or two to blanket the continent, but when they did, daily life shifted drastically for everyone. The monsoon brought torrential, flooding rains that inundated streets and could turn them into raging rivers. More dangerous was the hail; huge chunks of dirty ice that could crack a skull open easily. As a child, Weyoun had had a broken arm from a piece it. One could not count on the ability to go outside; therefore, if one lived in a place that required it, for a commute or some other reason, then a solution needed to be found.

Every building in all Kurillian cities was connected via skyway or underground walkway, and a metro train, protected by a hard duraplastic tube, traversed Tira City. For eight and a half months out of the year, no one felt daylight on their skin, and Vorta pallor showed it. Those who didn't live in a city were forced to during the monsoon, with many people keeping a second home in one of its many residence towers. Transportation into suburban and exurban areas could be had during the monsoon but it was unreliable for all but the most affluent areas—better for most to know that they had a place to sleep.

Those moments when the rain stopped had to be seized. They were unpredictable and precious and could last anywhere from two hours to two days. Weyoun knew precisely what Eris meant about feeling like taking chances. The evanescent ability to breathe air that hadn't passed through a re-circulator, to look straight up into the sky, did tend to induce a feeling of abandon.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, feeling something squirm deep within him as the city light, tinged blue, caught the paleness of her face. Just then, she turned and caught his eye, making him flick his gaze away and cast about for a subject, finally asking, "Why anthropology?"

She smiled. "That's an easy question to answer. I grew up in a house with High Classical foundations and both of my parents are historians—there wasn't much else I _could_ do. And anthropology has a certain mystique that appealed to me as a sixteen-year-old, since so few people study it."

"High Classical," Weyoun repeated, "that's a thousand years ago?"

Looking pleased, Eris said, "I'm impressed."

He didn't think there was anything all that impressive about spouting some basic Vorta history to her, but he certainly wasn't going to complain if she thought so. Turning towards her, he said, "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

There was a low, ominous roll of thunder and both of them glanced at the sky, but the respite from the rain held. Looking back to her, Weyoun asked, "Did you mean what you said at the hearing? You really don't believe you've found where Kurill and his family hid the Founder?"

Eris studied him, trying to determine, he was sure, why he was asking. "Because that's what the rumor is, you mean. That we've found Kurill's home."

"I wouldn't even call it a rumor. But yes, that's going around within certain circles."

She stopped walking and turned to face him, her study of him turning frank. Heat lightning flickered high in the clouds, illuminating them pinkish-gray from within. They were not the only people out, but Tira City felt emptier for the few other Vorta braving the break in the rains and hail. "I want to show you something," she finally said, taking his hand and curling her fingers tightly around his.

They were already in the Hellad district and so he wasn't surprised when she brought him to her excavation. The whole site, all thirty square meters of it, was covered with tarps, with water pooled in low spots. Around the perimeter were a few shelters open to the elements of the monsoon, though during the dry season they would provide shade. It was lit brightly by tall security lights, and Weyoun spotted several CCTV cameras monitoring the area.

"The geology of this site is amazing," Eris said as they entered excavation. "You know, I assume, that Tiryn Mountain is a dormant volcano?"

Weyoun raised his eyes in the direction of the conical peak, visible during the day in the dry season. There was no hope of seeing it at night, especially when the air was as heavy and laden with humidity as it was. "I do, as shocking as it may be for a political aide."

She pursed her lips, looking amused. "I would never be showing this to you if I thought you weren't aware of these sorts of basic facts."

"I'm honored."

Smiling a little and leading him through the tarp-draped alleys of the site, she continued, "About sixty thousand years ago, Tiryn erupted and covered everything within a two hundred mile radius in a thick layer of ash. The way the site drains tends to preserve imprints for quite some time—we notice the same thing even now—and when the volcano erupted, the ash covered several sets of footprints and preserved them."

She stopped in front of a small area that had clearly had a low, waist-level shelter constructed over it, then glanced over her shoulder at the roiling clouds overhead. Then, with no further hesitation, she unbolted the tarp from its fastenings and flipped it up, then crouched and slid into the trench that the shelter was covering.

Weyoun spared a moment's thought for the fact that he was wearing one of his nicer suits and that pits in the ground tended to be dirty, and then he followed her.

Inside the trench, a sheet of clear plastic was pinned down over the ground. Here and there, small puddles sat on top of it, but for the most part it was dry. Eris stepped carefully along a path that only she knew and he stayed behind her, taking care to only put his feet where she put hers. Finally, she stopped, staring downwards at a spot several centimeters in front of her.

Eris knelt, smoothing the sheet of plastic gently, so that the ground beneath it became visible. "I uncovered this the day the monsoon started," she said. "No one else on the site knows this is here." Weyoun crouched next to her and looked at the spot that she was framing between her slender hands. A set of footprints was visible there. He didn't think he had much of an eye for this sort of thing, but to him it looked like two separate species—one, a modern Vorta footprint, and the other, something more ape-like, though the species appeared to change mid-stride.

"It looks like two different individuals made these," she said, her tone reverentially hushed. "But there was something odd about it. So I analyzed the stride myself. You can see where the footsteps change from this primitive Vorta shape to this one here. Sixty thousand years ago Vorta were still part arboreal—you see how the shape of the arch of the foot is different? But then, look—" Weyoun did. "—this footprint here, this is modern, and there's no way that these two footprints were made by two different individuals."

He took a moment to process all of this, didn't ask how it was that an anatomically modern footprint could show up in sixty thousand year old sediments, and cut straight to the heart of the matter. "What kind of…being can leave two entirely different sets of footprints?"

She looked at him earnestly. "Only one kind that I know of. These," her fingers twitched, "are the footprints of the Founder that Kurill saved."

Weyoun raised his head and found himself staring into Eris's eyes, which were wide, as though she herself still couldn't believe what she'd found. "These are…a _god's_ footprints?" he asked in a low tone. She gave one affirmative nod, then looked back to the preserved footprints, and he furrowed his brow at her. "Eris, why didn't you mention this at the hearing?"

She set her mouth in a line. "Because I'm the only one who's looked at them. That's not science. I could be wrong."

"But you don't think you are."

"No." Her eyes unfocused for a moment. "I didn't want to have to use Kurill to win. It didn't seem…right." Abruptly, her gaze snapped back into focus, and she drew his attention to another set of footprints that he hadn't been able to see until she smoothed the plastic cover. Whoever had made them had been walking beside the Founder. They were the footprints of the Vorta's arboreal ancestors.

Weyoun looked at her, but she was staring intently at the footprints. "Are those…?" he began. _Kurill's_, he'd been about to finish, but couldn't, reeling suddenly at the idea that he could be looking at an imprint of their race's progenitor and the central, non-divine figure of Vorta doctrine.

She shook her head. "I don't know. There's no way to. But it's a nice thought, isn't it?" She finally looked up at him and smiled brightly.

Something kept him from speaking, and he reached a hand out to rest his fingers lightly on the raised edges of the Founder's footprints.

He was a religious man, but saying such a thing was akin to saying the sky was blue. Of course he was—he was Vorta and there was no other way to be. He kept a small shrine in his flat, he found at least five minutes every day to pray at the one in the Complex, and he attended services once or twice a week at the district shrine. The Founders weren't demanding gods—they were absent, and Vorta faith was as much about honoring them as it was about hoping for their promised return.

Still touching the footprints, he bowed his head and prayed quickly, then lifted his head to look at her again. "This is…unbelievable."

"It—" A deep stillness outside made her trail off and both of them instinctively looked up. There was, of course, nothing to be seen except pinkish tarp. It rustled slightly, undulating in a wind that had just picked up. Eris stood slowly. "Maybe we should go."

There was a deep rumble of thunder and Weyoun got to his feet as well. "I agree."

They climbed out of the trench, with Eris taking care to seal it behind herself. The wind was gusting by the time they both straightened up and quickly began walking across the site, the hollow echo of it presaging the returning rain. "We're only a few blocks from the Hellad train station, aren't we?" he asked her.

She nodded briskly. "I apologize in advance if a piece of hail breaks any of your bones."

He was about to inform her that it had happened to him once already when a fat, cold droplet of water hit the back of his neck. Raindrops splattered the pavement in front of them and a blast of wind at their backs brought the roar of the fast approaching deluge. "Perhaps we should abandon our dignity and make a run for it?" he asked her with a grin.

"Absolutely," she agreed before both of them broke into a sprint, heading for the isolated shelter of the Hellad train station, which came into sight, two blocks away, as they bolted over an incline.

The rain reached them then, a cold inundation that soaked mercilessly through every article of clothing within seconds. The sidewalk streamed with water so that running became like splashing through a creek; and then a small piece of hail pinged the side of Weyoun's face, stinging as it glanced off his cheek.

Fortunately they were only meters from the station. They reached it and Weyoun wrenched the door open, letting in a pool of water and a spray of rain. A chunk of hail the size of his head ricocheted off the corner of the roof, spraying them with chips of ice just as they ducked inside.

For a moment, he leaned against the tightly shut door, catching his breath, while Eris propped herself on the railing of the staircase immediately inside, one of her feet braced on the lower step, doing the same. Water dripped from Weyoun's saturated shirt and jacket over his wrist and down his fingers. Eris's dress was plastered to her slender frame and his eyes couldn't help but linger as it hugged her slim contours.

Before his gaze turned to ogling, he met her eyes and extended an arm, inviting her to ascend the staircase to the station's main platform, raised off the ground to keep it from flooding during the monsoon. She did so with a nod and he followed her to one of the tightly sealed platform doors. For a minute or two, they stood at the clear, duraplastic-paneled side of the station, peering out into the murk.

"This probably wasn't the night out you were expecting," Eris said, turning to him and smiling self-consciously. A wet curl flopped onto her forehead, and she brushed it back into place. "Nearly getting brained by hail isn't exactly…well, romantic."

Weyoun felt himself leaning towards her. "I can't complain."

She straightened up, clasping her hands in front of her. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For inviting me. Dinner was wonderful, and…you let me show you what I love."

He wanted to take her hand—no, he wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her, which was insane; they were in a train station, in public even if no one else was around, and that sort of public affection wasn't something that Vorta of their caste, highly educated and trained, intellectual and political, did. Still, he had to swallow hard to stop himself from doing it.

"I should be thanking you," he replied.

"Not for the hail part."

"No, even for the hail part." He reached up and plucked a shard of ice from her wet hair, a piece of the chunk that had bounced off the corner of the station. "I needed the adventure."

"So you consider the fact that we're drenched an adventure?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He chuckled, though it came out low. "A minor one on the way to greater things."

The rain pounded on the duraplastic sides of the train station while hail slammed into it intermittently. Eris's eyes were locked on his, the lavender of her irises looking pinpricked with blue and light from something shining behind them. "Greater things?" she asked quietly. "Did you have something in mind?"

He found that they were standing very close to each other, and he wasn't quite sure how that had happened. His hands, at his sides, needed mere centimeters of forward motion to curl around her hips, which they twitched to do before he stopped them. "I have a few ideas."

"Mm," she murmured, as something outside the laws of physics drew them even closer together. "You're a very inventive man."

Then they were kissing—hard, passionately, and not that Weyoun had all that much in the way of experience to compare it to, but kissing a woman had never felt quite so transcendent; he put his hands on her waist, then moved them to her back, sliding one up her spine and pulling her against him. Eris hooked an arm around his neck and ran her fingers through his hair and pulled even closer, and for several heady minutes the whole world consisted of probing lips and tongues and hands, wet clothes pressed into hot skin, and the blazing flare of desire.

Finally they separated by enough that their lips weren't immediately drawn back together, though their noses still brushed against one another's as they opened their eyes. Slowly, she put a finger to one of his ears, tracing the line of it down to his jaw, and his breath hitched at the intimacy of the gesture. "I think we should see each other again," she breathed, her chest heaving a little, "if you'll pardon my understatement."

That startled a laugh out of him, and he cupped his hands around her face, his fingers resting on the delicate ribs of her ears. Then he kissed her again, and this time the only thing that stopped them was the train's arrival, its light cutting through the dark rain like a beacon.

* * *

The monsoon went on, soaking Kurill for another four months. Senator Soltoi's five year term was drawing to a close in a year and a half, and so Weyoun began making preparations for her campaign. The work was well suited to the monsoon because in its early stages it was mostly interminable forms that needed to be filled out. As senior aide, he bore the brunt of responsibility for her re-election. He'd been a junior aide three years ago, during her previous campaign, though it was during that time period, just before Soltoi inevitably won her seat again, that she'd promoted him to his current position. During the campaign itself he'd need to work closely with Soltoi's publicity staffer—a woman about his age, Yeroi—which he'd been less than relishing, especially since it was the first re-election campaign he'd run. He and Yeroi had never really gotten along. She was competent, though, and Soltoi didn't require her staff to be friendly with each other, only that they work together and accomplish what she wanted them to.

The senator had always overworked him, but in the aftermath of the Hellad hearing, he'd noticed an increase in the number of tasks she assigned to him. Whether this was his punishment for not winning the case or for…something else, he didn't know. It didn't bother him—he enjoyed being busy. And if his internal drive to succeed wasn't great enough on its own, he now had the added motivation of seeing Eris at the end of the day, whenever the two of them could carve out a slice of time.

The first night Weyoun and Eris spent together was followed by the first morning of his adult life that Weyoun couldn't get himself out of bed, and the first day that he'd ever taken off work. Granted, it was week's end, and no one begrudged a Vorta for taking that day off, but he never had. Waking up with a very naked Eris Arethoi in his arms was the impetus he'd needed to stay out of his office for a day. She filled a gap in his life that he hadn't felt until she'd entered it; made him happy in a way he wasn't aware that he hadn't been.

The physical part of their relationship took him by surprise. He wasn't certain he'd ever quite appreciated sex before having it with Eris. Certainly it had always been enjoyable—he was, after all, a twenty-seven-year-old man, and there had been other women—but the way his nerves screamed with exquisite pain when she touched him; the way she arched her back and moaned when he ran his hands over her…that was new. He'd never been with a woman with whom he felt the same deep well of connection that he did with Eris. There was a…a rightness, and an electricity, when they touched each other, as though everything in him had been waiting for her. A flash of insight told him, that first night, that he'd never want to be with another woman again; that whatever other vices he might fall prey to, this woman was the one he'd always want.

Not everything was carnal. He came to appreciate her intelligence and humor more and more; came to rely on both qualities for balance in his own life. Prior to meeting her, his interest in the history of his world and his city had been minimal, but her passion for her work nurtured his interest in it, and she, after a month or too, admitted with a grudging respect and a sly smile that, considering it was his line of work, politics couldn't be all that bad. And then there was her poise, cool and calm and perfect, which he never tired of. He loved watching her in her thoughtful, quiet moments, her chin tilted upwards, her shoulders swept back in a graceful curve, and her expression unfocused while she gathered her thoughts. Her gaze had a way of being both distant and intimate at once, because she never let that poise slip in public—so when she did it in private, with him, it was like being admitted to the inner sanctum of her confidence.

The value of that confidence wasn't lost on him, and it didn't take him long to realize what had been true for some time—he loved her.

They settled into patterns of domesticity quickly, eschewing dinners out for cooking in and spending the night talking or simply catching up on work. When Deimos discovered this state of affairs he scoffed that Weyoun had no sense of romance, and clearly Eris didn't either, but Weyoun disagreed—well, not necessarily that he had no sense of romance; that may well have been the case, but that their relationship had none. Maybe the real romance was in the quiet way Eris slipped her hand into his without thinking about it, or their slow kisses after making love, or the electric lance when they touched that was more than just the promise of physical sensation.

One night, almost five months to the day since that first kiss, found Eris staring up into the cupboards while Weyoun sliced vegetables and dropped them into the deep-bowled frying pan sitting on the burner. "For someone who's rarely at home, you certainly have a lot of food in here," she remarked. He glanced over his shoulder at her as she rummaged through the very full cabinet. "You could decorate your flat with your spice collection," she teased. "Then it would look like someone lived here, at least."

"I'm sure it would be the next craze in interior design," he replied, grinning at her. "I'll have to keep it in mind if I'm ever considering a change of careers."

Scoffing good-naturedly, she said, "You? You love the Complex too much."

He joined her at the cupboard, his hand going automatically to her hip as he stood next to her. "Yes, but one never knows about life's vicissitudes."

With a quick kiss, she said, "True. Now, you have nine different kinds of honey in here, so I think we should use some of it with dinner."

"Ten, actually; there's one more at the back," he corrected her.

"My point exactly."

With a smile, he said, "Well, I'm sure I can make some sort of halfway-decent sauce."

"I'll do it." She reached up and pulled down the most exotic looking jar, its label proclaiming its provenance in one of Kurill's extreme southern cities. "You're much neater with the sautéing, anyway."

Chuckling, Weyoun said, "I'm glad you think so. I'd hate to overstay my usefulness."

Throwing a glance over her shoulder at him as he went back to the burner and she pulled out a metal bowl, she remarked mischievously, "Oh, you're useful in bed as well, don't worry."

"High praise. Can a man aspire to anything higher than being considered useful both in the kitchen and in the bedroom?"

"Everything else _is_ a bit superfluous, now that you mention it." She busied herself with making a sauce for the vegetables out of what she found in his overstocked cupboard while he cooked, until she dipped a finger into the mixture and stuck it in her mouth to taste it. After she swallowed, she said suddenly, "Speaking of life's vicissitudes—why Soltoi?"

Weyoun glanced over his shoulder at her from the burner. "What do you mean?"

"I mean just that." Eris brought the bowl over and held it over the skillet, though she paused before pouring the mixture in. "The only reason I can see to work in her offices is to draft to a better position than your peers on her power."

"You have a way with words," Weyoun snorted.

Continuing to study him, she said, "There's a very deep hunger in you for a lot of things, Weyoun." He raised his eyebrows inquiringly, but she went on with the faintest hint of a smile, "Your ambition borders on a pathological hunger for power. Why?"

He concentrated on the stir-fry and didn't bother to repeat his earlier observation about her eloquence. Five months ago he would have glibly changed the subject and she would have persisted until he gave her some sort of answer. Now he just didn't know what to say. His hunger for power was no mystery to him. But he hadn't expected such a blunt query about it. "Does it?" he finally asked.

In a second, her eyes flitted from his face, to the still-open cupboard, to the rest of the flat, and understanding dawned across her delicate features. Eris put the bowl down on the counter, the metal bottom clanging. "You were poor."

"Poor," Weyoun laughed, unsurprised by her leap to this conclusion. "_Poor_ would have been luxurious. No, I was less than poor. What's the word?" He knew it well, as it had been hurled his way on more than one occasion, from schoolyard scuffle to university hazing. "I was gutter-scum. Gutter-scum who got lucky. My test scores were good and my parents sent me away to the exarchate school as soon as they could."

Her eyebrows were raised. "That's a good school."

Though the hesitation was minuscule, he heard it in her voice. "For an exarchate boarding school."

"No." Eris sighed harshly through her nose. "The Tira school is an excellent one, period. Probably better than my private school in Pegrilliti."

"I doubt that."

"Oh, Pegrill is extremely provincial." Her sly humor managed to show through the awkwardness of the conversation. Tilting her head, she asked, "Are your parents still alive?"

"No." No one lived long in the slums. They'd been lucky not to have been murdered. "They died just before I finished my degree at university."

"They must have been proud of you."

Weyoun shrugged. "I suppose so. I always got the feeling that they were more baffled at how gutter-scum produced a son like me." There was a mild look in Eris's eyes, as though she could sense that now that he'd said _something_ on the subject—the subject that he avoided like Panouklan plague—that he would have more to say. His gaze slid towards the windows, un-curtained so that rain-washed, hail-filtered monsoon light flooded in—Tira City's clean blue light dirtied as it bounced off the hail. "I'd go back during school holidays, not by any choice of my own. My parents' home was _squalid_."

He spat the last word as the memory of that place, small, dark, muddy from years of monsoon washing out the alleys and shambles of the slums, repulsed him for a moment. 'Squalid' wasn't strong enough, couldn't possibly describe the state of filthy destitution that he'd been raised in. He could never distance himself enough from it. "People like me spend our lives wanting power because we refuse to go back to that. And if you're good enough at your job, Soltoi guarantees you power." It was a flip way to sum it up, his—Deimos would call them hang-ups, and Eris…well, she wasn't looking at him differently, probably because she'd already suspected half of this.

She didn't address what he'd said. "Do you have siblings?"

Of course he had siblings. Gutter-scum always had siblings, low fertility rate or no. "Two. Younger. I send them money. I haven't seen them in years." He hoped she wouldn't ask him why, or suggest that he should, or express sympathy at this lack of familial affection. Either she would understand or she wouldn't.

Her expression was unreadable, but that was infinitely preferable to pitying. There was no question that Eris had come from a wealthy family, and in his experience, highly educated, comfortable women felt terribly _sorry_ for him. The Vorta caste system wasn't rigid the way it had once been, and it was common and acceptable to raise oneself to a higher caste. Still, there were traditionalists, and he hated his past so much that he preferred to keep it hidden.

But the only thing that happened was that her face went from unreadable to something lighter, and she remarked, sounding almost amused, "You're worried that this will change the way I see you."

"Not really," Weyoun replied, attempting to imbue the words with a nonchalance that he didn't feel.

She smiled and sniffed, moving close to him. "I'm an anthropologist, Weyoun. Social conventions and psychology are my strong suit."

At that, he laughed, then put his arms around her and pulled her closer. "You're a _physical_ anthropologist."

Her smile grew to a mischievous grin as she slid her arms around his neck. "Hm, speaking of physical…I certainly could be."

He laughed again, softly this time, and kissed her harder than he'd intended. Of course he'd been worried. Anyone from the slums worried because those who escaped spent their formative years enduring mockery and ostracization. There were plenty of children from the slums at the exarchate school, the combination of government-funded room, board, and education too tempting to pass up for most parents. But there were other, less poor children there, as well—children who were not quite gutter-scum, but not quite of a high enough caste to be sent to a private school—and a mostly-unspoken but strictly self-enforced segregation had occurred between the two groups during Weyoun's younger years at school. One did not cross those lines unless he or she wanted to fit in with neither caste.

Eris tugged his shirt open and ran her hands up his bare chest, returning the kiss fervently. "You know," Weyoun murmured into her lips, "this stir-fry would really be best eaten hot."

"I think I can sacrifice the taste just this once," she replied, drawing in a sharp breath as he slid a hand under her shirt and cupped it over one of her breasts.

His bedroom had curtains, but neither of them was much inclined to stop what they were doing to close them. The monsoon provided curtain enough, anyway, and the liquid light eddied on their sweat-slicked skin as they made love.

Afterwards, he kept her hand clasped in his, running his thumb along the crease of her palm as she lay, propped on one elbow, watching him. The light brought out the purple tint along her hairline, on her ears, down her sternum, on her nipples. "You're thinking about something," he said, holding her gaze.

She smiled slightly, the blue light from outside shining on her eyes. "I've been told I look distant when I do that."

"Just the opposite, actually."

That seemed to surprise her, and her expression softened. For a long moment, she gazed at him, and then, finally, she said, "I love you, Weyoun."

There was such a sweet pain at hearing her say those words for the first time that he did nothing but squeeze her hand more tightly for a moment. Then, he replied, "I love you too. But you knew that."

She leaned down and kissed him. "And you knew that telling me would make me the happiest woman on Kurill."

"Actually, no." He pulled her on top of him. "Does it?"

"Don't be stupid."

"I pride myself on the fact that I rarely am."

Her laugh was barely more than a breath. "I suppose empirically speaking, some woman somewhere might be happier, if there was a way to measure for happiness—" He cut her off with a deep kiss and felt her smile, and then he put his hands on her hips, his thumbs settling into the groove of her pelvic bone.

She rested her forehead against his. "—the point is," she murmured, "I've been wanting to tell you that, and be told, for a long time."

That put an end to the conversation as their mouths found each other's again. It was some time before they remembered and returned to dinner.

* * *

Weyoun opened his eyes the next morning to a delicate periwinkle sky, free of clouds for the first time in eight and a half months, and the sun's rays just beginning to creep into the room. Monsoon's end. He stifled a yawn, smiled, and looked at Eris, who was still sleeping. Though he would have been content to lie there, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest and her pale features as the sun slowly moved across the floor to the bed—he'd never seen her in the sun, he realized—his small movements must have woken her, because she drew in a deep breath and opened her eyes. Her gaze went to the window for a moment and then to him, and then, with a languid sigh, she stretched and rolled onto her stomach, splaying an arm across him.

He caught her hand. "Good morning."

She smiled at him, resting her chin on his chest. "Your eyes are very lavender in the sunlight," she remarked.

Chuckling, he reached out a hand and traced the line of her ear up into her hair. The tight curls yielded to his touch and he rested a finger right where the top of her ear met her head. "Are they? Fascinating."

"I thought you might like to know," she said, inching further up his body until they were face to face. "They're very handsome."

"You think so?"

"Mm hm." She kissed him softly, and then murmured, "I suppose we should get up and enjoy the day."

For a moment longer, he held onto her, but then, with a sigh, she rolled off of him and sat up, pulling the sheet up across her chest absently. When he reluctantly stood up, she watched him for a moment, then asked broodingly, "Isn't this the morning when most relationships tend to fall apart?" He raised his eyebrows and she leaned back against the headboard, letting the sheet fall into her lap. Sheepishly, she added, "I suppose part of me wondered if this was a monsoon fling."

The term came from the fact that, during the long months of the monsoon, romantic entanglements tended to begin and then abruptly end with the rains themselves. With travel difficult and the overwhelming majority of the time spent indoors, and often with the same people, it was easy to find oneself looking for something to do and finding it with an attractive member of the opposite sex (or the same sex, of course, if one was so inclined). Deimos was something of an expert on the monsoon fling, having had one almost every year since Weyoun had known him.

He pulled a shirt on and buttoned it as he sat down on the bed again. "It never crossed my mind," he replied honestly, putting a hand on her leg. There was a flash of vulnerability on her face that he'd never seen before and for a second she looked…twenty-three. Young, and unsure, and in love—the thought sent a frisson through him—for the first time in her life.

A smile flickered onto her face. "Mine either, until this morning."

"So I need to prepare myself, is that what you're suggesting?" he began, but couldn't add to as she wrapped her arms around him and promptly negated the work he'd accomplished on his shirt buttons.

It was some time later that they finally did get up, shower, and go outside. Eight and a half months of constant rain was followed by five and a half months of cloudless skies, no precipitation, and sun. In the northern hemisphere, the dry season occurred while that hemisphere was tilted away from the sun, which moderated its rays (in the southern hemisphere, as Weyoun understood it, both seasons were miserable, with the monsoon being cold as well as wet and the dry season being scorching hot. This was probably, in addition to the rugged terrain, why the southern hemisphere was so sparsely populated). Still, though, it was always a shock stepping into the light for the first time at monsoon's end, the external warmth a welcome unfamiliarity every year.

This day was, in fact, the most important holiday of the year—the start of the four-day movable festival that took place following the end of the monsoon. When that first cloudless morning came, the long-absent sun peeking over the horizon, the only thing most Vorta wanted to do was to go and stand beneath it. Everything shut down while the entire planet's population prepared for the first night of the Effulgence Festival, celebrating the return of light—and by symbolic extension, the hoped-for return of the Founders one day.

The festival's main tradition was the stringing of paper lanterns and tiny, twinkling electric lights over everything. People hung them from their flat balconies if they could, otherwise every residence tower window was bejeweled with them. Every tree in Tira City sparkled by the time darkness fell, and most people, after the evening religious service, decamped to one of the city's many parks, which shimmered with every color of light in the visible spectrum. With their weak eyesight, this spectacle tended to blur, in the far background, to a smear of brilliance to the Vorta, a deluge of light that was a blazing contrast to the eight and a half months of monsoon that they had endured.

Rippleberry wine flowed in earnest after services and no one abstained, though some people certainly imbibed more than was maybe strictly wise. Hawkers and vendors thronged the streets selling sky lanterns, religious trinkets, cheap holo-arcade programs, and, of course, food. A different edible was being sold every few meters, frying in skillets on portable burners or roasting over grills, the smells of all of it wafting through the district. Bean cakes, roasted and glazed _kava_ nuts, honeycomb, sugar sticks, _dulma_ rolls; anything that could be cooked outside and sold was. Past a certain hour music could be heard throughout the city, harmonies twining upwards into the night in Vorta polyphony. They didn't sing during the monsoon, and hearing the haunting musical lines twisting around each other was a powerful reminder that the sun had finally returned.

Weyoun and Eris stayed late into the small hours of the morning; so late that many people began drifting home. The second day of the festival began with a dawn service and Weyoun had always been one of those people who sensibly had gotten a good night's sleep before it—tonight, as the two of them strolled through the twinkling, glowing trees, hand in hand and sharing a honeycomb, he couldn't imagine going home and sleeping.

Eris stopped and tilted her head back, gazing upwards through the branches of a tree gilded with white and blue lights. Purple paper lanterns swayed from its lowest branches. One was still, and she reached up to delicately set it swinging again.

He just watched her, the way her skin seemed to catch glints of the dancing light and the way her eyes actually did; the delicate lilac at the backs of her ears and below her hairline, the curl of hair at the nape of her neck. Something swelled in his chest and he swallowed, knowing that he didn't have the words to describe what he was feeling. An avowal of love didn't have the immediacy, the visceral-ness, and so he watched her, knowing that whatever it was showed plainly enough in his eyes.

She looked towards him then, meeting his gaze, and searched his face for a moment, her eyes flicking minutely back and forth. She opened her mouth slightly to speak, but then closed it. While music swirled in the background, the two of them held their silence. The tight twining of their fingers around each other's said enough, anyway.

* * *

"Now, I'll be out all day tomorrow for the conference at Tira University. Miss Yeroi, are all the details finalized for my session with the media after the keynote?"

Two weeks into the dry season and life had returned to the frenetic pace of the sunny months. Most of the Council vacated the capital for the first few weeks, taking the time to visit their home exarchates, and their constituencies, for the first time in months. Being Tira City's senior senator absolved Soltoi of the traveling, but it didn't make her any less busy. Her days were booked almost solid as she met with constituents, lobbyists, businesspeople, and influential heads of families. A huge percentage of every year's political maneuvering was done in these first three weeks of the dry season. It was one of those times that no one slept very much, or went home very much, for that matter.

Additionally, Tira University held its annual political science conference during the second week of the dry season, which Soltoi was always invited to as a speaker and always attended.

Yeroi nodded briskly to Soltoi from her customary spot at the opposite end of the table, her earrings jingling. "I received the final list of questions the media is expecting to ask you just before I came in here."

"Good." Soltoi nodded. "Make sure to take down the names of those who stray from the list this year. I'll want them barred from any future sessions."

Weyoun watched as Yeroi quickly made a note of it. He could have made a guess at which media personnel would improvise their questions, since he spent plenty of time with them, but that, luckily, wasn't his job tomorrow. One of Soltoi's supporters was interested in expanding her strip-mining operations onto the outer slopes of Tiryn Mountain, and as it was a protected area, her efforts to do so had so far failed. She'd come to Soltoi several days ago and asked what could be done about it; as a result, Soltoi was planning to introduce legislation to diminish the protected area around the peak. Weyoun needed to begin building the case. It would be against the science lobby again, he was sure. They may have beaten him last time, but he was determined to win this round.

"That's all for today's agenda," Soltoi's personal assistant murmured from Soltoi's other side. Weyoun, on the senator's right, had kept silent for most of the meeting, devoting most of his attention to the nascent Tiryn Mountain case, but he glanced up at these words, waiting for Soltoi to indicate that the meeting was over and they were all dismissed.

Soltoi stared around the table at her staff for a moment, the nineteen of them keeping their eyes deferentially lowered. Then, she nodded in satisfaction and flicked a wrist, motioning to them that they could leave. Chairs squeaked as everyone stood up, and the staff began filing out of the briefing room. Before Weyoun reached the door, however, Soltoi said, "Mr. Uldron, a moment, if you please," stopping him. He allowed the others to pass by him while he watched the senator's face from slightly hooded eyes. She didn't speak again until after everyone else had left and she'd motioned to him to close the door.

"You're still seeing Arethoi," Soltoi said, folding her hands in front of her on the table.

The statement took him aback, though he tried not to show it. "I never realized that once I had a life to keep private it would be impossible to actually keep it that way," he remarked wryly.

"Come now, Weyoun, you're in politics. You know as well as anyone that there's no such thing as a private life." Her gaze bored into his. "Are you or aren't you?"

Her use of his first name startled him; she rarely bothered with such personal niceties, and it told him more than anything else, that there was nothing to do but be truthful. She obviously was already fully aware of the truth, anyway. "Yes," he said, feeling as though he was admitting to some wrongdoing. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I wonder if you see the lack of wisdom in what you're doing, considering she was the individual chiefly responsible for us losing the Hellad hearing."

He flicked his eyes downwards to show some measure of deference, but otherwise he held his ground. "I don't see how it matters. The hearing's long over."

Soltoi's lips thinned. "It matters because the media will always find something to talk about. It's unimportant when your…_liaison_ began, the fact is that if you are seen with her, the historical narrative of the Tira City-Hellad hearing will become that Senator Soltoi's senior aide, the man responsible for ninety-five percent of the case, allowed it to collapse because he couldn't keep his eyes off a pair of nice legs." She held up a hand to forestall his defensive rejoinder before it had begun. "Now that excavation work has begun there again, interest is running somewhat high in the site. I don't care if the two of you are carrying on this age's great romantic epic. The press wants a story and you are _handing_ one to them." Her gaze grew even harder. "It isn't the truth that matters, only the public's perception of it. But don't let me stand in the way of what is, no doubt, a grand passion—you'll just have to enjoy it without the benefit of a position in this office."

For a long moment, there was only silence in the room. The room's interface line pinged and she held the call to say to him, "I expect your decision within the week."

Weyoun smoothed every emotion out of his face. "Of course. You'll have it." He turned to go, keeping his expression impassive, but then Soltoi's voice stopped him.

"Oh, and Weyoun, I'd like to set up a meeting to discuss the possibility of you running for office in the upcoming election cycle."

He spun on his heel to face her again, a tendril of anger at her snaking through him at the manipulation, and then a wave of it overtaking him for his own susceptibility to it. There was a knowing smile on Soltoi's face. "As you know, my junior colleague Senator Parnon is reaching the end of his term in six months. You would be an excellent candidate to run against him."

His fists clenched and he forced himself to loosen them, though Soltoi would not have missed either action. He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, then looked her in the face. "When did you want to have the meeting?"

Soltoi's smile was cold and victorious. "I'm certain your schedule will be clear some night later this week." For a moment, he stood there, then he nodded curtly and stepped out of the room. "Weyoun," Soltoi said, "close the door on your way out, please."


	4. Chapter 3

3

**60,054 (Kurillian Calendar)**

Weyoun had a message from Eris when he dragged himself through his door late that night, wondering if he wanted to have dinner. His reply was terse and obvious—he was home far too late. Maybe later in the week. She would understand his delayed response; work was important to both of them and it came first. He knew she was already in bed; she got up early so that she could make the most of the daylight hours for excavation, and that was fine, because the last thing he wanted to do was hear her voice. All he'd be able to hear overlaid on it would be Soltoi's ultimatum.

He didn't really sleep, and it showed the next morning as he sat blearily in the canteen, blinking slowly at a breakfast that he didn't feel like eating and a cup of _kava_ that would wake him up, but which he hadn't touched. Even the glass of water looked unappealing, with the steam from the _kava_ condensing on its side.

Deimos's voice made him jump as his friend slid into the empty seat across the table, already talking. "I think you'll find this ironic considering the fact that we just spent over two months fighting _not_ to allow a holo-arcade into the Hellad district, but a case came across my desk last night to fund holo-arcade _research_, for medical purposes, of all things—hearing starts in three weeks and I don't know where I'm going to find the time to research _that_ when I'm already working on…" Deimos trailed off and narrowed his eyes at Weyoun. "What's wrong? You look terrible."

Weyoun raised his eyes, absently drumming his fingers on the table. "What's more important, Deimos, a career or a woman?"

"Well, the answer to that question is entirely dependent on the relative merits of each."

"_My_ career. Or Eris."

"Ah. Soltoi finally took notice?"

"Yes."

Deimos downed a gulp of _kava_. "I'm surprised it took her this long."

Staring off into space, Weyoun made a small, vague noise, then said, "She probably thought it was a monsoon fling."

"Then it's not?" When Weyoun shot him a disgruntled look, Deimos said, "All right, all right, it's not."

"At least, it wasn't."

Deimos raised his eyebrows. "You're thinking about ending things because Soltoi gave you an ultimatum?"

Letting his eyes unfocus to some point in the distance again, Weyoun replied, "That's why I'm asking your advice." His eyebrows drew together slightly. "I don't know what to do. Eris is…very important to me." To cover his awkwardness at this admission of affection—like blatant physical affection, no one of their caste liked showing it—he sipped at his _kava_. It was lukewarm.

"All my monsoon flings are very important to me," Deimos said frankly, "until our differences inevitably arise when it stops raining."

Weyoun looked at him sharply. "Are you saying you think I've fooled myself into thinking this is something more?"

"I'm not saying that, but have you considered the possibility?"

"Yes."

"And?"

With a sigh, Weyoun said, "I have no idea." He stared at his full glass of water. "Soltoi offered me Parnon's seat."

Deimos's eyebrows shot up. "If anyone can make sure you get it, it's her."

"Exactly." A bead of condensation slid down the outside of the glass. "I've spent half my life working towards a Senate seat. This is…not the way I'd planned on getting it."

"Hm."

When it became clear that this was the only comment Deimos was going to make, at least until prompted, Weyoun asked, "Do you have something to say?"

Deimos shrugged. "You're an ambitious man. I was just thinking—it's something of a miracle that you've gotten this far with your career without having to throw someone under who, as you say, is important to you."

His eyes slid away from Deimos again and focused on nothing. It was true—but then, there had never been anyone to care about. Certainly not his family. He wouldn't have hesitated to throw _them_ under, but there had never been any need. They were too unimportant. "You're saying I'm going to have to make a sacrifice at some point."

"I'm not saying that," Deimos said quickly, then, after a moment, added, "It just wouldn't be strange if you _did_ have to. Look, I can't tell you if Eris is more important than winning a Senate seat. I do know that for as long as I've known you, you've wanted the latter. Eris…well, it's only been five months, yes?"

Distantly, Weyoun nodded. It _had_ only been five months. Compared to the last fifteen years of work, that was insignificant. And if he took Soltoi up on her offer, he'd be a senator by the time he was twenty-eight—not the youngest ever, but close.

Self-disgust twisted through his stomach at that thought and he remembered the look of vulnerability on Eris's face the on the morning of monsoon's end. She trusted him—she _loved_ him, and he was sitting there trying to rationalize throwing away what they'd found together. The problem was, it was much too easy to rationalize it. Perhaps she'd even understand—perhaps she'd consent to a…a break, while Soltoi's anger cooled and he won one of Tira City's two junior senator seats…

The thought was too absurd to continue with. Soltoi's memory was too long. She'd never forget that Eris had beaten her. And Eris—well, if he suggested a 'break', he knew it would be a permanent one. He flicked his eyes towards Deimos. "What do you normally tell your flings when you're finished with them?"

Deimos shrugged. "The truth. It was fun while it lasted."

And having met some of Deimos's flings, they no doubt agreed and were untroubled by such an ending. "In this case, I don't think the truth will be the best option." Weyoun squinted across the canteen at nothing in particular. "I suppose the question is: would I rather have her hate me for being shallow and callous or for putting my ambition before everything else?"

"Hey," Deimos said, sounding mildly affronted. "Watch it with the 'shallow and callous' business."

Flicking his eyes towards his friend, Weyoun said, "Sorry. But this wasn't _your_ standard relationship fare."

"I'll ignore the implied slight," Deimos said, and then scoffed, "You didn't tell her you _love_ her." When Weyoun glanced quickly away, the other man looked horrified. "You did."

"It's the customary response when it's said to you," Weyoun said stiffly, unsure for a moment if he was more disgruntled with Deimos's dismissiveness or the fact that he'd posed the question so matter-of-factly, and then, after a moment, why he'd deflected the truth away so glibly.

"Well." Deimos took a large bite of his breakfast. "You _do_ have a dilemma, don't you?"

"I'm delighted you finally see it," Weyoun replied sourly.

"Yes, this is one thing you can't talk your way out of or twist into something good."

Weyoun's attention was already drifting again, drawn back into his internal struggle, and he barely heard this. "Soltoi knows she's not really offering me a choice."

Deimos remained quiet for a moment while he chewed and swallowed another mouthful of food. "You're ending it, then?" he asked, not sounding particularly surprised.

Pressing his lips together for a moment and exhaling harshly, Weyoun said, "I don't know."

There was a long moment of silence. The clatter of trays and silverware suddenly seemed very loud. Then, Deimos tried, "Look at it this way—there are always going to be other women."

Weyoun looked up sharply. "After I win the senate seat, you mean."

"Obviously. Somehow I don't see you having time for romance during your campaign."

Though his mind was insisting on weighing both paths, at the back of his awareness, he knew the decision had already been made—that it had been made, in fact, the minute Soltoi had offered her ultimatum. By asking Deimos he knew that he could articulate, out loud, what needed to be done, and he knew now that he could live with the hard twist of guilt in his gut, because it was tying his stomach up now and his decision was taking form in his mind. "If I take her offer," Weyoun said slowly, "I'll be beholden to Soltoi for the rest of my life."

With a shrug, Deimos said, "A lot of people are. That's the price you pay." He paused, then added, "I always thought you accepted that that was how things were going to be."

So had he. Weyoun finally reached towards his water, swallowed a mouthful that went down hard, and then got to his feet without responding to what Deimos had said. "I have work to do," he said, gathering his mostly unconsumed breakfast. "Thanks for the advice."

"Somehow I don't think it was that helpful," Deimos replied, watching Weyoun.

Weyoun flicked a glance towards his friend, then left without another word. He shut himself in his office the rest of the day, concentrating on the Mount Tiryn case, but he found himself running into one mental barricade after another, unable to force his mind on track. Not that there was any mystery why it was happening. He kept thinking of Eris; for some very odd reason, the way she sat. She had a way of gracefully arranging herself, one leg crossed over another and stretched in front of her. There was something so easy and elegant about it; so very…her.

He pushed the thought away, but it, and others like it, returned time and again, all day, until dusk fell and Soltoi's offices emptied, and he realized it was time to go home.

Normally, during the dry season, he walked home outside. The route through Tira City's streets was much more direct than it was through its skyways, and he spent enough time on the trains during the monsoon that the shorter commute didn't appeal to him. It was cool and almost dark when he left the Complex, and for a moment he stood on the broad steps outside, breathing in the dry night air, thick with the sounds of the evening rush. Mopeds and open-roofed skimmers crowded the road below, circling the obelisk at the center of Capitol Square, and shuttles roared by overhead, either taking off or landing, their wing lights flashing in the purple dusk. Hawkers selling everything from _kava_, to the day's news on an interface disc, to bean cakes, congregated at the bottom of the Complex steps, hoping for a few stragglers leaving work late.

Normally he might buy a bean cake for the walk home, but his stomach, at the moment, was nothing but a hard knot. He knew what he needed to do tonight, he just didn't want to do it. Closing his eyes for a second, he fixed the image of himself as a senator in his mind. That was what waited for him on the other side of tonight. When he opened his eyes again, they fell on the hawkers. If he hadn't done everything that he had to avoid it, _that_ may have been his life—if he'd been lucky. Tonight was part of that. He had to do what he had to do.

So when he reached his tower he kept going; continued the further five blocks until he reached the building that Eris lived in, where he forced himself to walk through the front doors without hesitation and take the lift to her floor. It was an interminable ride. But he found within himself an ability that he hadn't called upon in a long time—a capacity to disassociate himself from the moment so that while the lift labored upwards, he examined this situation and chose the words he'd use when he came face to face with Eris.

There was no sound from within her flat when he knocked at the door, and he didn't know if he was gratified that no one was there or horrified that he'd have to do this all again the following day. Then, however, the door opened, and Eris was there, still in her dirty work clothes.

"Weyoun?" The surprise was evident in her voice. "I wasn't expecting to see you tonight."

He didn't meet her eyes. "May I come in?"

"Of course."

If she'd touched him, his resolve likely would have failed—but he had no doubt that she could see in his posture and in the way he didn't quite look at her that something was wrong, so she didn't. The lights were dimmed in her flat and a padd was glowing softly from the sofa, where she'd obviously been sitting and reading. The door clicked shut behind him and Eris walked around him to face him.

"I don't think we should see each other anymore," he said quickly, before she could ask him if he was all right.

There was a suffocating silence in the room. Somewhere far below, a metro train rattled by.

Then, Eris said in a low voice, "Look at me." For a moment, he resisted, and she repeated, "Weyoun, if you're going to break up with me, at least look at me while you're doing it."

He dragged his eyes to her face, pale and hard as marble. Her chin was raised. "Why?" she asked.

"Why?" he said with a shrug—some way to occupy his body, instead of just standing there, as much as it was an attempt at nonchalance. "Does there really need to be a 'why'? Sometimes things don't work out, and there isn't any reason."

"You told me you loved me two weeks ago," she said, stepping closer to him. He maintained the distance by stepping back and she stopped, then asked, with a fierceness in her tone that he associated with her passion for her work, and not with him at all, "Were you lying?"

"Eris—"

"Were you lying, Weyoun?" she demanded.

This time, when she stepped closer to him, he didn't move away. Her eyes flickered between icy and bruised and he found that he couldn't look away from them, at least until he closed his own eyes briefly, which allowed him to cast his gaze towards the ceiling. "No," he had to admit.

He made the mistake of glancing back towards her. Her jaw was set in a hard line, the bottoms of her ear lobes standing out starkly against the set of it. "This is about your job, isn't it?" she asked in a low, dangerous tone. He didn't answer, figuring there wasn't any need. The way her eyes were slitted at him was indication enough that she knew it was. "I should have known," she said, her tone steely. "After all, you do work for _Soltoi_. The senator would probably sell her own parents to a slum charnel house if she thought it would benefit her position."

Weyoun kept himself very still, running through responses in his head. "She could make your life miserable," he attempted in one last desperate bid for any softening of her expression, even though he knew he'd never get it.

Eris's peel of laughter rang out; a sharp, hard version of the sound that he loved. "Don't condescend to me. This is about _you_ and your need to grab at power. Well," she added savagely, "I hope you enjoy it."

She clamped her lips shut and Weyoun knew that there was nothing more to say—he'd made his choice and she wasn't going to tell him that it was fine; that she understood. Had he been expecting that? Nevertheless, he couldn't stop himself from adding, "This wasn't an easy decision—"

Her eyes flashed with pent-up emotion. "Get out," she interrupted, her voice low and dangerous again. "I don't _care_ if the decision wasn't easy. You made it. So leave. _Now_."

He hesitated another moment, then bowed his head and forced himself to walk out of her flat without looking back towards her. The door slammed shut before he could close it and he avoided, narrowly, feeling that it was a clichéd echo of the feeling in his chest.

The combined silver-blue light from both moons slanted through the window at the end of the corridor as he forced himself to stand there, unmoving, until the icy feeling choking him began to melt away. It didn't, or wouldn't, and so he left feeling still strangled, his acute hearing picking up the sound of something—a padd, perhaps—clattering to the floor. Eris wouldn't cry, so he didn't listen for that—and he didn't want to hear it, anyway.

Somehow he hadn't expected what he'd just done to hurt as much as it had, and he couldn't help but begin wondering, even before the lift reached street level, if he'd just made a serious error in judgment.

* * *

"Ah, Mr. Uldron. Are you ready to discuss your senatorial campaign?"

It had been four days—though it had felt more like four months—since Weyoun had been to Eris's flat to—well, since he'd been to Eris's flat. Soltoi had never even asked him what he'd done; what decision he'd made, though if he had to guess, he'd assume that the expression on his face when he walked into work the day following the split had been evidence enough. She had waited those four days, and then she'd summoned him to a meeting.

He entered Soltoi's office, shut the door behind him, and stood rigidly in front of her desk. "I'd be honored to, if you think I'm ready to hold a seat in the Council."

Soltoi smiled coldly. "You're ready if I say you're ready. Sit down."

The command was unusual—Soltoi generally preferred to keep her subordinates on their feet. He moved to do as she asked immediately, sitting in one of the two hard-backed chairs along the wall. His employer made a great show of busying herself with the several padds on her desk, and then she set them aside and gave him a discerning look. "I can tell you're second-guessing yourself about the decision you've made."

"Not at all," he replied stiffly, knowing the minute the words had left his mouth that everything in his demeanor contradicted them.

With a sniff and a shake of her head, Soltoi remarked, "You're lying, and poorly. I expect better from you."

He clasped his hands in his lap and inclined his head. "Of course, Senator. Forgive me."

"I only have your best interests at heart, Weyoun."

The thought struck him, suddenly, that there was an odd note of parental authority in her tone. He'd obviously never spoken to her about his family—all other issues aside, family was too personal a subject to discuss with anyone but the people one was closest to—but he had no doubt that she knew his history.

Maybe she _did_ have his best interests at heart. Certainly she had a closer idea of what those interests were than his parents had. He would always remember, though he'd tried to forget, the look of stupid happiness on their faces the last time he'd seen them. They were thrilled, _thrilled_ he was going on to university, but he hadn't volunteered what degree he was planning on pursuing and they hadn't asked, happy enough just that he was _going_. That pride shining in his mother's dull eyes had made him hate them, the way they lived their small, ambition-less lives, content to let _him_ have all the ambition for them—the way they spent all dry season securing their hovel so it wouldn't collapse during the monsoon and spent the monsoon huddled inside. His father had been crippled by a piece of hail at some point in the preceding five years and didn't work, and that left his mother to support the two of them and his younger siblings—and Founders knew what she did. Weyoun hadn't _wanted_ to know. He had just wanted the train to come so he could get on it and never, ever see these people again, because he'd reached the age of majority and Founders help him, he was _never_ going to return to the slums.

But the idea of Soltoi as…parental, was not, in light of recent events, the way he wanted to think of her. Maybe she saw him as a sort of son; the son she'd never had—because he _did_ know that about her; she wasn't married and had no children. Still, a response was required, and he said, "I know you do."

She was regarding him steadily, as though she could still see straight through his feigned courteousness. "I'm glad," she said, then steepled her hands on the desk. "Now, as I said, you're an excellent candidate to replace Parnon. I have no doubt that given the right effort on our part, you can win his seat easily."

"Everyone thinks they can win his seat," Weyoun said. "Including him, I imagine."

"But 'everyone' isn't on my staff," she replied curtly. "We'll get you the endorsements you'll need to win the public over right away." She paused for a moment, thinking, and then sniffed derisively. "And as for Parnon—he's a naïve fool who rode a wave of popular idealism into office. He didn't know a thing about serving in the Council before he was elected to it. And he hasn't _learned_ anything about it in the past five years."

"His poll numbers aren't bad," Weyoun felt compelled to point out.

Soltoi looked contemptuous. "I don't care about his poll numbers. He has no money and no donors. The public may like him now, while they aren't being told any differently, but once campaign season begins, we'll make sure to tell them exactly why Parnon isn't fit to hold that seat."

For a moment, he weighed whether or not to say what he was thinking. It might come off as argumentative—but then, part of him was feeling argumentative, anyway. "I don't have any money either, Senator." Soltoi had come from a very wealthy family and Weyoun knew that her first campaign had been funded entirely from an inherited trust fund. Weyoun made a comfortable salary, but the idea of funding a campaign with it wasn't just laughable, it was absurd.

Soltoi smiled with her usual chill. "You don't need to worry about that. You'll be funded very generously by several of Tira Exarchate's oldest and most influential families. It will be easier to do things that way rather than drawing you into commercial interests so early in your career."

He held his tongue for a moment, knowing, now, that the tight feeling in his chest was brittle, bitter anger. "I imagine I'll be too busy with your political interests to concern myself with commercial ones," he said, hearing the bile in his own voice.

There was silence in the room for a moment. "Will that be a problem?" she asked dangerously.

He didn't know the answer to that question, but he still replied, casting his eyes downwards, "No."

"Good." Soltoi kept her unblinking gaze on him while she slid a padd across the desk. "Here's a basic timeline of what you can expect from a campaign. I know you know all of this, but I want you to start thinking about it from the perspective of the candidate. You'll need to think about staffing, as well, though the staff here will obviously be available to you."

For the better part of the afternoon, the two of them went over procedural aspects of running for a Council seat. Weyoun gave what he thought was perhaps the performance of his life, as by the end of the meeting, Soltoi was convinced that he was thrilled to be considering the upcoming election—when in fact, nothing was further from the truth.

As he stood to leave, Soltoi surprised him by getting to her feet as well. She regarded him for a moment, and then said unexpectedly, "This has been a valuable lesson for you. Romantic entanglements are a distraction at best, and at worst, they're a tool that can be used against you."

He wondered if she was trying to be ironic. "I suppose that's why you never married," he replied, struggling to keep the bite out of his tone.

Soltoi gave him a cool look. "_That_ is none of your concern whatsoever."

Something in her tone made him glance quickly upwards to meet her eyes without meaning to—it was as if what he'd said had crossed a line of some sort. Well, it had; it had been too personal, but there was a rigidity to Soltoi's words that suggested a far deeper infraction than mere rudeness on his part.

"My apologies," he said slowly, wondering what he'd said to hit such a nerve in her. Her eyes, for the barest of moments, had looked unguarded, though he hadn't thought to determine what emotion had flashed through them. There was no mistaking the look in them now, though—definite cold hostility, and he had a feeling it was more because he'd gotten a rise out of her than because of what he'd said.

The best thing to do in such a situation was to genuflect and leave, which he did, with the padd she'd prepared for him in hand. Between that and his other work, he had plenty to think about and to keep him occupied—and hopefully that would keep his mind off the thing that it kept going back to, and the one thing that he didn't want to think about.

* * *

Four weeks went by. Weyoun wouldn't have said he was miserable. He was too busy to be miserable, between the Mount Tiryn case, preliminary preparations for Soltoi's re-election campaign the following year, and his own political campaign. Soltoi was pushing him hard, particularly on the last, and he doggedly threw himself into the work. It gave him, he thought, about the same amount of satisfaction as always, but these days he needed…more. The work simply wasn't enough.

So while he wasn't miserable, he certainly wouldn't have characterized himself as _happy_, and it was no mystery why. He couldn't really see his way out of it—Deimos told him to have some casual sex and was only half-joking. "I talked to Eris," he had then said in one of the most awkward segue ways to have ever occurred during their friendship, prompting Weyoun to raise his eyebrows dubiously in his friend's direction, and Deimos to hastily go on, "She seems well."

"Glad to hear it."

"But unhappy." When Weyoun had hesitated to respond, Deimos had said, "It's all right, I won't judge you if you say you're glad to hear that, too."

He hadn't said it, though part of him was. It was the same petty part of him that wondered if she worked as much as she could so she didn't have to go home and sit by herself in an empty flat—or if her flat wasn't so empty. The latter was a thought he pushed out of his mind every time it came up. She was perfectly within her rights to fill her time and her bed with someone else. But knowing that didn't make the idea of it any easier.

Four weeks to the day after he'd left her, he arrived home so late that the streets were nearly empty—empty enough to make him grateful for the fact that he lived nowhere near the slums, and thus out of the territory of most of the criminals who operated from them. Once at home, he didn't feel like scrounging together enough food to make a meal, but he found an old jar of _kava_ nuts—very stale by this point—and contented himself with them.

He stood at the window, mechanically eating, while he stared out at Tira City. The fifteenth storey put him about in the middle of its vertical expanse; his building rose a further three floors upwards but many were thirty or forty. Eris's building was visible in the distance, one more lit residence tower among many. Her window, on the twenty-first floor, actually faced towards his, but the individual flats were too blurry to pinpoint, and it was so late that she was probably sleeping, anyway.

Suddenly, he missed her more than he'd ever missed anyone in his entire life; her absence and his role in it eating what surely had to be a physical hole in his chest. It hurt, and he wasn't used to that, having foolishly thought he'd left such vulnerability behind in childhood. It hurt and he didn't know what to do. He felt as lost as that pathetic piece of gutter-scum that he'd once been, disembarking the train at the exarchate school, alone at nine years old because he hadn't wanted to be seen with his family. Well, he'd always been alone. He'd found his way when he was nine because that was what he'd always done, and he knew what he wanted. All that had been left to figure out was how to get it.

That was, he supposed, not so different from the current situation, after all. Except finding his way all those years ago had led him to a place where there weren't manifold paths, there was just one, and there wasn't room on that path for the two things that he wanted. He'd asked the Founders for guidance, praying at both the corner shrine in his flat and the district shrine, but they hadn't provided. It was too petty a problem for them, but it was the only thing he could think to do.

His fingers brushed the bottom of the jar and he glanced down at it, mildly nonplussed that he'd eaten an entire jar of stale _kava_ nuts without really knowing it. Lost in thought—and not even useful thoughts; just the same self-pitying, ineffectual nonsense that he'd been engaging in for the past four weeks.

He turned around and went to check his interface messages, setting the jar down on the desk, and then, abruptly, he realized he was being a colossal idiot. Of course there was an option for him. It was a horrifying option, and four weeks ago to suggest such a thing to him would have been ludicrous. Four weeks ago he never even could have come up with the thought independently; it was simply unfathomable that he would consider such a thing. Now, it seemed so obvious that he couldn't imagine why it hadn't occurred to him.

He could resign from Soltoi's staff, set back his career by years, but possibly, just possibly, convince Eris to give him another chance.

A roll of excited nausea swelled through him at the sheer audacity of the idea and he actually had to put a hand to the back of the interface chair to steady himself. Barely breathing, and hardly believing that he was actually giving this serious thought, he rapidly went over what it would mean. No Council seat in this election. Obviously. Finding a new job—again, obvious. Likely taking a cut in pay. Showing that his loyalty was questionable. Inviting Soltoi's enmity.

Weyoun slowly sat down in front of the interface terminal, staring at the lit screen without really seeing it. He didn't know if the nervous thrum of his body was from horror or excitement. Except for that first, quick foray into the implications of resigning from his position, he couldn't make his mind settle down to thinking about it seriously. Taking a deep breath, he reached forward and turned the interface off, messages forgotten. The darkened screen was a relief that he hadn't known he needed.

Weyoun was a great believer in his own capacity to make the right decisions, but of late he wasn't sure how sterling his record was. He needed someone's advice about this. Tomorrow, before he got to work, before he met Deimos for breakfast, he'd stop by the Science Lobby office and speak to his friend there, where they were unlikely to be overheard. He wanted someone to tell him definitively that this was a terrible idea; that he should stop considering it and get on with his life and career, _sans_ Eris Arethoi.

Unfortunately, he kept thinking of those as two separate arenas. With Soltoi, career was life, and he knew, as his unfocused gaze settled on the residence tower lights reflected on the interface screen, that as long as he worked for her or with her, it would be that way. There wasn't room for anything else.

* * *

Weyoun rarely visited the Science Lobby offices. They were sprawling, labyrinthine, and bustling, with one of the largest, most diverse staffs in the Complex. There was representation from just about every scientific discipline on Kurill, from astronomy to genetics to physics, with each field split out into separate offices, usually divided further by folding walls. Despite their specialties, the lobbyists really were generalists, and when they took on a case, each member of the panel was chosen at random. Weyoun thought it was a ridiculous way to delegate responsibility—the other lobbyist offices didn't have the same system—but Deimos had always insisted it was the best way for them to broaden their knowledge. He supposed he owed their ridiculous system, in a way—it was the reason that Deimos, an astronomer, had worked on the Hellad hearing, and he doubted that he'd ever have been properly introduced to Eris without that intermediary.

The head lobbyist for each discipline usually got his or her own office, and Weyoun headed straight to Deimos's, asking as he walked through the door, "Do you have a minute?"

"For you? Always," Deimos replied obsequiously.

"Good. I need you to talk me out of something."

Deimos rolled his eyes. "I've never been able to talk you out of _anything_. You're the most stubborn man I've ever met. Remember your three-job semester?"

Giving him an exasperated look, Weyoun said, "I wouldn't have been able to stay at university without those three jobs. Anyway, that's beside the point. Can I shut the door?"

Cocking his head in surprise, Deimos replied, "I suppose. What's going on?"

After he'd closed the door behind him, Weyoun returned and crossed his arms over his chest in front of Deimos's desk. For a moment, he stared down at his friend, and then he said determinedly, "I'm going to resign from Soltoi's staff and try to find a job with another senator."

"That's a stupid idea," Deimos said promptly.

Furrowing his brow, Weyoun asked, "Do you think so?"

Deimos threw up his hands in amused exasperation. "I haven't thought about it at all; you told me to talk you out of it!"

Uncrossing his arms and putting his hands on the desk, Weyoun said, "Well, think about it. In my more lucid moments I think it's the most terrible idea I've ever had. The rest of the time I think it's the only thing I can do."

"Weyoun, she's going to make you a senator."

"I know."

Deimos stared at him acutely. "Is it a more terrible idea than breaking up with Eris was?"

There was a long moment of silence between the two of them. "No," Weyoun finally answered. "But that was the worst idea I've ever had."

"Well, to be fair, it wasn't your idea."

With a dark chuckle, Weyoun replied, "Just my execution of it."

"Execution is probably the apt word." Deimos studied him, then said, "Sit down, would you?"

Smiling wryly, Weyoun settled himself in the worn chair that Deimos kept in one corner of his office. Then, the smile faded and his expression grew serious again. "I can't work for Soltoi anymore. Every moment I'm in my office I'm…bitter."

"That will pass."

"I'm not so sure." Weyoun clasped his hands together. "It isn't just Eris—though that's a major component, I'll admit. It's…" He hesitated. His mind had been turning this over for days now, the truth of his realization and the equally truthful fact that he was rejecting what it could have given him. "Everyone that Soltoi helps owes her. On the Council, if she wants something to happen, it _will_ happen. Her business friends all owe her favors. Sometimes it seems like she owns half this city. Never mind the city—half the exarchate."

"And you don't want her to own you," Deimos finished for him.

Weyoun nodded. "I already knew all of that. But then I started to imagine myself as one of her…lackeys, and…" He paused again, and Deimos let the pause stretch for as long as it needed to. "I didn't go into politics to take orders from my peers."

Deimos stayed silent for another minute, watching Weyoun across the desk. Finally, he said, "It sounds like you've already made up your mind."

He almost denied it. He'd walked into Deimos's office fully intending to weigh both options against each other, but as soon as the word 'lackey' had come out of his mouth—Eris's word, to describe his subordination to Soltoi—he'd realized that his decision had been made. "I suppose I have."

There was a companionable lull in the conversation, and then Deimos asked curiously, "Who would you work for?"

Weyoun splayed his fingers and absently fidgeted with them. "I haven't gotten that far yet." It was true. The clarity that had made him decide to apply for work elsewhere had been a crystalline moment of resoluteness— the decision of where that 'elsewhere' would actually be was far more nebulous. He had, possibly arrogantly, figured that it didn't require that much thought. After all, he was Soltoi's senior aide—_any_ position he applied for would be a step down for him. Anyone should be happy to hire him. And choosing a potential employer would require careful thought. Not just anyone would do; he would need someone that would owe him; who would want to protect him from Soltoi's wrath.

Deimos gave him a serious look. "Have you considered this office?"

The sincerity of the question surprised Weyoun, so much that he said immediately, "Oh, no, I couldn't." Aware of how dismissive it sounded, he added quickly, "I'm not a scientist."

"You could learn," Deimos said evenly. "And we could always use someone who's as persuasive as you are."

Weyoun smiled at his friend. "I appreciate your faith in me, but I'm afraid my particular aspirations aren't all that well suited to this office."

"You mean our pure pursuit of knowledge isn't compatible with your naked ambition," Deimos replied good-naturedly.

"Your words," Weyoun replied, raising an eyebrow, "not mine." When Deimos chuckled, Weyoun said graciously, "I appreciate the offer. And I know if you put in a good word for me, I could have my pick of positions in this office."

"But you want to be a senator someday," Deimos finished for him, and when Weyoun bowed his head in affirmation, Deimos sighed, then said, "I know. You're much more transparent than you think you are. Speaking of, if I were you, I'd find out if Eris even wants you back before you resign."

Weyoun looked up at him. "That isn't really the point."

"I know," Deimos replied, smiling crookedly. "But I'd still hate to be out a job _and_ out a woman."

"I'm sure it must be a terrifying thought for you," Weyoun said. Then, he furrowed his brow. "I'm much likelier to get another job than get her back."

"But the latter is what you really want."

Weyoun didn't answer, aware that it sounded unprofessional, impulsive, and maudlin to admit that Deimos was right, but his friend just sighed, smiled again, as though he found Weyoun's developing sentimentality amusing. Well, he probably did. "I have a feeling you'll get her back somehow," he said.

"Oh?" There was no reason for the naïve rush of…relief; relief and stupid happiness, that Weyoun felt, hearing his friend say that. Deimos didn't have the slightest idea. But still.

"Yes." Deimos hesitated. "In my expert opinion, she misses you. She wants to be with you."

"Well, you _are_ the closest thing to an expert that I know on these sorts of things." Weyoun got to his feet. "Thank you, Deimos. I think I know what I have to do."

"Don't mention it." Deimos grinned. "And try not to get on Soltoi's bad side, yes?"

Weyoun raised an eyebrow, but let that comment hang in the air as he departed.

* * *

It had never really occurred to Weyoun how large Soltoi's offices were, and how small most other senators' were in comparison. That, he supposed, was one very tangible benefit of nearly thirty years of service in the Senate—an office large enough to accommodate one's staff. The offices he was sitting in at the moment were a fraction of the size of Soltoi's. The small staff was crowded around a block of desks that was sectioned half-heartedly off from the rest of the office by folding walls, and the personal assistant's desk was crammed up against the wall near the door, so that she had to squeeze past one arm of it to get to her seat. There were only two separate offices inside—one for the senator, and one for the senator's senior aide.

Weyoun shifted, attempting the impossible task of getting comfortable on the worn chair he was seated in. Something very sharp and evidently vital to the utility of the piece of furniture was broken and poking him in the back, but he couldn't imagine what could be so sharp and painful inside the cushion; and every time he shifted it seemed to shift with him.

There was something threadbare about the entire operation, not just the chair. The carpet was thin in many places and had a distinct moldering odor. The old carpet—a century old, in some cases—had been ripped out of most of the Complex, but apparently some of these tiny, top-floor offices had been missed. The staff themselves had the same quality about them. Soltoi's staff always looked their best. These people looked as though they didn't really care about their appearances.

They did look happy, though, which he supposed was what counted. He'd certainly never appreciated how important it was to be happy in one's job until he no longer was.

The internal interface line on the personal assistant's desk pinged and she depressed a button on her headset, then murmured into it. Looking over the desk at him to meet his eyes, she said, "Senator Parnon will see you now."

He stood and she sidled out from behind the desk to escort him to Parnon's office—not that he needed the direction. There were two doors to choose from, and one opened onto a clearly empty office. The personal assistant looked too young to even have the job. Just out of school, maybe, which meant no university education, which meant…Parnon couldn't even get a fully-qualified personal assistant. Maybe this hadn't been a very good idea after all.

The time for such second guessing was long past, though, as the personal assistant knocked swiftly and perfunctorily on Parnon's office door, then pulled the handle to open it.

"Ah, Mr. Uldron. Please come in."

Parnon was a youngish man, probably in his early forties, who was Tira Exarchate's resident Senate idealist. He'd spent a significant part of his first term opposing many of Soltoi's initiatives and cases, and about all he had to show for it was her enmity. He was the most junior of junior senators; a man that everyone knew was going to lose his seat because of the powerful rivalries he'd created. Weyoun didn't know him well. As an enemy of Soltoi's, he hadn't been _encouraged_ to get to know the senator well. And he knew that Soltoi could get him Parnon's seat, because at this point, it was anyone's for the taking.

Or Weyoun could do something truly stupid, and make sure that Parnon kept it.

Parnon's seat came to term in half a year. Challengers were lining up in the wings, though Kurill law kept them from declaring their candidacy and openly running until three months prior to the election. His senior aide, despairing of ever attaining any kind of advancement, had quit—not that he was a great loss. He'd never advised Parnon well—not that Parnon was beyond reproach in this, as he'd hired the man in the first place—and when it had become clear that his employer was making enemies, he'd failed to make overtures to Parnon's enemies' aides, which any low-level aide should have known to do. Weyoun had heard that he'd left politics altogether and was waiting tables at one of the high-priced restaurants in S-tech Tower. It probably _was_ less stressful and more rewarding.

That left a vacant senior aide position in a senatorial office that desperately needed one. It was the most important administrative position in a senator's office in a normal year; in an election year, it was paramount.

So Weyoun had come, against all of his better judgment, to ask Parnon for a job.

He murmured his thanks to Parnon's personal assistant, who nodded to both him and her employer before closing the door. Immediately, Parnon stood and reached across his desk, offering his hand. Weyoun clasped it, surprised at the gesture. "Sit down," Parnon said, and as Weyoun did so, the senator said, "It's been awhile, hasn't it?"

"A year, maybe," Weyoun answered. "I believe the last time we saw each other was a fundraiser that the Pegrill Mining Consortium organized."

Parnon leaned back in his chair. "Yes, that's right. Senator Soltoi was away, as I recall, and you took point on her networking." When Weyoun inclined his head in confirmation, Parnon asked, "How did that ever work out?"

Weyoun hesitated, but then, rationalizing that he'd come here to ask for a job and that he was trying to sell himself, said, "Very well. The Consortium will be one of the largest donors for her re-election campaign." The amount they were donating, in fact, was likely more than Parnon would see during his entire campaign. He hoped Parnon understood that—Weyoun didn't want to have to say it out loud.

"Ah. Impressive." He gave Weyoun a pleasant look, with something probing beneath it. "Senator Soltoi must have been pleased. But then, I think we've all been impressed with your acumen for politicking."

"I just do my job," Weyoun replied.

"And the hallmark modesty of Senator Soltoi's staff, as well." When Weyoun remained silent, unsure if a response to this was required, Parnon smiled and saved him from further bemusement by saying, "Let me ask you something. Say you find yourself winning an election within the next few years. What's your platform?"

Weyoun blinked and leaned back unconsciously. Did Parnon already _know_ that Soltoi was after his seat for her senior aide? Then, he demurred, "I don't think I'll find myself winning an election within the next few years, Senator."

"No?" Parnon studied him, and Weyoun saw the desire to press him for an answer, and then the dismissal of that desire, flash across his face. "What _I'd_ like to do is to have a more complete space program," Parnon said musingly.

"Senator?"

"Manned orbitals; that's what we need to do. There's no good reason we haven't done it. With all the satellites we're always launching up there, we could easily build an orbital to carry people."

Weyoun didn't know about 'easily'—Deimos would, probably—and as this conversation had strayed substantially from the reason he'd come by, he decided to steer it back in the direction he wanted. "Senator," he said seriously, "it's an…interesting idea, but to be quite blunt with you, you aren't going to have another term to pass that legislation. You've got five months, and no one in the Council will side with you because they know you're going to lose. They know Soltoi wants you out, and they won't risk annoying her. This is a dead seat, Senator, and I think you know it."

For a moment, Parnon didn't say anything, and Weyoun wondered if he'd gotten through to him at all. Then, Parnon said, "Call me Foros."

With a small laugh—more out of shock than anything else—Weyoun said, "I can't do that."

"Why not?"

He furrowed his brow. "Because, I'm…an aide, and you're a senator."

Parnon waved a dismissive hand. "I don't care to stand on formality. You remind me of my brother. He's about your age."

For a moment, Weyoun was stunned into silence, which didn't happen all that often. "Your…brother," he finally repeated, for lack of anything else.

"Yes. You must be about twenty-eight?"

Weyoun couldn't even bring himself to be bewildered by this straightforward query about his age, which was considered to be very bad taste. "Twenty-seven."

"Ah. Well, my brother's twenty-eight. He writes sacred music, actually. No one can quite understand how he came up with that gene; our whole family has been in politics. I suppose we were all surprised when he came along—our mother was supposed to be infertile after bearing me. Maybe it's not particularly shocking that he'd go against the grain in his career, either." Parnon turned a holoimage on his desk around. "There we all are. That's my wife next to me."

Weyoun could barely look at the holoimage; his eyes were too glazed over from this glut of extremely personal information that he didn't need to know. In five years of working for Soltoi, she had never told him her parents' names or even whether they were still _alive_, and here was a man he barely knew informing him of his mother's fertility issues (or lack thereof, he couldn't help adding to himself with a shudder).

"Well, anyway. What do you think?"

Snapping his eyes up to Parnon, he stammered, "Think? About…er…what?" Surely the man wasn't asking him what he thought about his family. Weyoun was beginning to have serious doubts about the wisdom of asking for a job with the junior senator. He was beginning, actually, to have serious doubts about the other man's sanity.

"About manned spaceflight," Parnon said patiently. "If I were to introduce the legislation, what do you think its chances of passing would be?"

Weyoun lowered his eyes to the desk. "It doesn't matter what I think."

Parnon leaned back in his chair. "Maybe not. But I'm curious."

"Senator," Weyoun said, still staring at the swathe of desk in front of him, "it's not my place to judge your ideas—"

"You want me to hire you, don't you?" At those words, Weyoun's eyes snapped up, and Parnon smiled knowingly. "That _is_ why you're here? My vacant senior aide position?"

"I…thought we could discuss it, yes."

There was a moment of measuring silence. Then, Parnon said, "The job's yours—_if_ you give me your honest opinion about manned spaceflight."

Weyoun stared at him. The man seemed sincere. How odd. Soltoi had never asked him for his personal opinion on her legislation during five years in her employ, and he'd never really felt the urge to offer it. Finally, he shifted in his seat and said, "The only thing that I can think of that's in space are the Founders. So the only reason to go there is to look for them. But they're supposed to return to _us_."

"Yes, I see what you're getting at. Blasphemy?"

"No," Weyoun quickly assured him. Somehow he didn't think the job offer would still stand if he actually leveled that accusation. Besides, it hadn't been what he meant, though he could see how his words had been misconstrued. "I just don't know if it's something the general public cares about. Orbitals are for synchronizing satellite orbits, not exploration. And even if you convince the Council, they'll be nervous about committing the amount of money that manned spaceflight would require. The public is already unhappy with the way the Senate's been allocating funding. People want the metro improved. They want better roads into the exurbs. Sending Vorta into space isn't high on the public's list of worthy uses of taxes." He hesitated, then bowed his head and added, "And it isn't high on mine, either, Senator."

Parnon was nodding and staring at him seriously, and once Weyoun had finished, the senator remained silent for a minute or two. Then, he asked, "And if you were my senior aide, what would your advice be for a first step in this process?"

Weyoun blinked. Had Parnon heard a word of what he'd said? The departure of the man's previous senior aide was becoming more and more understandable. For a second, he considered repeating himself regarding the folly of manned spaceflight, but when he glanced up and met Parnon's eyes, he sighed and couldn't. "If you want to introduce that sort of legislation, then you need to get in the good graces of the science lobby."

"And you'll help me with that?"

There was a long moment of silence, then Weyoun inclined his head. "If you were to hire me, then of course. It would be my job to support your efforts."

"No matter how ludicrous you think they are."

"If it was only the sensible legislation that made it to Council debate, there would be no point in _having_ a Council," Weyoun remarked.

Parnon laughed, then leaned back in his chair and tilted his head in study. "Why do you want to work for me?" he asked curiously. "I mean no offense, but you seem more the type to stay on Soltoi's staff until she can help you into a Council position. You yourself pointed out my…shortcomings."

Weyoun kept his eyes lowered. "If I can be honest with you, Senator?"

"Foros. But yes, please."

He would not call him Foros. Taking a breath, Weyoun said, "It's something of a personal issue."

There was silence in the room while Parnon waited expectantly and Weyoun resisted saying it out loud. "If your personal issue is so severe that it's driving you from Senator Soltoi to me, then maybe you'd better make sure that you won't have it with me also."

After another moment, Weyoun sighed resignedly and said, "Are you familiar with Eris Arethoi? She consulted for the Hellad hearing a few months ago?"

Parnon nodded. "I've never met her, but yes. She's the woman who helped the science lobby win the hearing."

Weyoun folded his hands in front of him. "She holds a very…unfavorable opinion of me. I'd like to show her that it isn't completely correct."

There was another long silence. This time, Weyoun knew for certain that the senator was waiting for him to elaborate. He wasn't going to. Parnon may have been comfortable sharing his entire family history with strangers, but Weyoun wasn't interested in broadcasting the details of the…situation between him and Eris to anyone else. "Ah," Parnon eventually said. "You're being circumventive. You'll learn to stop doing that around here." At that, Weyoun looked at him sharply, and a slight smile flickered across Parnon's face. "Well, Mr. Uldron, you're the first person to show any interest in working for me, so congratulations. You're hired."

Though intellectually Weyoun had known that even Parnon wasn't a big enough fool to turn down the brightest political aide in the Complex asking for a job that was a decrease in pay, stature, and prospects, a surge of triumphant relief still shot through him. Bowing his head, he said, "Thank you, sir. When would you like me to start?"

There was a broader smile on Parnon's face when Weyoun looked back up to him. "Considering I haven't had a senior aide for over two months, as soon as possible. Can you begin tomorrow?"

"I'll be here in the morning," Weyoun replied immediately.

"Good." Parnon stood, and Weyoun did as well, and this time, when the senator—his new employer—offered his hand, Weyoun took it much more enthusiastically. "I'm looking forward to seeing how you do things."

Determinedly, Weyoun said, "The first thing I'll do is win the election for you."

With a chuckle, Parnon remarked, "Well, your job is on the line now, too, so I appreciate your eagerness." Something measuring flashed through his eyes, but all he added was, "I'll see you tomorrow."

Weyoun nodded briskly and turned to go, but then Parnon said, "Oh, and Weyoun?" When he turned around to look, the senator said, "I wish you and Miss Arethoi the utmost happiness."

He thought about responding, but in the end all he did was bow his head in acknowledgement before leaving. If he was going to begin working for Senator Parnon the following morning, he had a job to resign from this afternoon.

* * *

Soltoi had always been imperious about her office door. If it was physically open, it was still metaphorically closed, and the routine of knock, wait ten seconds for an answer, and enter had been hammered into her staff. Weyoun didn't break the credo, though when he walked into her office he dispensed with the usual deferential waiting to be summoned, and simply held out a padd to her.

"What's this?" Soltoi asked, with barely half a glance in its direction.

"It's a letter of resignation."

"Ah, I wasn't aware we were losing anyone. Whose? Yeroi's, I suppose? She's been yammering on about getting married and I suppose the workload is too much for her—"

Weyoun dropped the padd on the desk so that the text of the letter faced towards her. "Mine, actually." The way Soltoi looked up at him in bafflement was almost comical—he'd never shocked the woman before; perhaps never really even surprised her. And it was clear that despite her ultimatum, there had never been any doubt in her mind which he'd choose between his career and Eris.

She'd been right. At first. "Senator Parnon has been generous enough to offer me a position on his staff," Weyoun said as his former benefactor scanned his letter of resignation. "I'll move my things to his offices this afternoon."

Soltoi jerked her head up to look at him, straightening her shoulders so that she took on the posture that most people found intimidating. He supposed that part of him always had as well. It helped to be standing. "Why in the world would you resign from my staff to work for _Parnon_?" she asked. "His support means nothing in the Council _and_ he's only got another six months left on it."

"Senator," he said, "I was under the impression that you were concerned about my private affairs having a negative impact on your standing in the Council. Senator Parnon has no such concerns."

"This is about Arethoi?" Soltoi chuckled. "I thought you'd forgotten about her."

Weyoun stared at her blandly. "This is about correcting an ill-advised decision."

The pleasant expression on her face evaporated and was replaced by something much uglier. "Don't be a fool. I've already offered you Parnon's seat in the next election."

"And if I may say so, Senator, I have a feeling that with me as his senior aide, Parnon's seat won't be available." He gave her the look of practiced diplomacy that he'd honed in her office; that perfect mixture of concern, understanding, and assurance. It would look nothing but disingenuous to her in that moment, and that was exactly what he wanted.

Tightly controlled fury washed over her face. "I can see I've been very wrong about you. I never imagined you the type to throw your career away for a woman."

Weyoun tilted his head, giving her the barest of hard smiles. "Oh, I don't think I'm throwing away my career. But I'll remember your concern."

Soltoi kept her expression mostly in check. "Get out. If you're still here in an hour, I'll call security."

He bowed his head and turned to go, but then, something made him hesitate in the door and look back at her. She was already concentrating on her interface screen. "Senator," he said, and with another moment's hesitation and real sincerity, added, "thank you." He meant for everything she'd taught him; what he'd learned in her offices was going to serve him well in his future, and even if their professional relationship was going to end on bad terms, he at least wanted her to know that he recognized and appreciated what she'd done for him.

But she just gave him a steely smile. "Don't thank me, Weyoun. I'm going to destroy you."

The cold anger in her tone made what gratitude he'd been feeling for her vaporize, and he turned around in her door, bowed slightly at the waist, and spread his arms out with his palms facing towards her. "Senator," he said as an acerbic parting shot, and then, finally, turned and strode from her office.

* * *

It was a week before he decided to pay Eris a visit. A very vain and stupid part of him had half-hoped that he'd come home from his new job and find a message from her stored on his interface line; that she'd heard what he'd done and wanted to throw herself back into his arms.

Obviously, no such thing happened, and he knew he'd have to initiate contact between them. An interface call didn't seem right, much less an interface message, and so he walked the twelve blocks to her flat in the rapidly waning daylight, watching as flares of orange and reddish-purple light from the setting sun glinted off the sides of buildings and pooled in the clear sky overhead.

Once he reached her flat, he stood outside the blank wood expanse of her door for two or three minutes, not so much working up the courage to knock on the door as the courage to manage his disappointment if she slammed it in his face once she saw it was him. Maybe he should have brought her something. She liked those little lavender shore roses—but no, flowers weren't going to sway her if her inclination was to never speak to him again.

He took a deep breath rapped on the door. Then, a small victory—it opened. Eris stood there, one hand on the edge of the door as if blocking his entry, her chin raised defiantly. She didn't look surprised to see him. She didn't look anything, in fact—her face was entirely expressionless while she stared at him for a long moment. His romantic instincts, not so different from the political ones that he'd sharpened for years in Soltoi's office, told him to keep his mouth shut. The light was dim in the corridor and brighter in her flat, so her stillness seemed magnified by the fact that she was silhouetted against the light.

"Come in," she finally said, stepping aside to allow him entry, and then, grudgingly, she asked, "Can I get you something to drink?"

"No, but thank you." The two of them stood and stared at each other for a minute until Weyoun gestured to the loveseat sectional in the living room. "Can we sit down?"

Eris nodded curtly and motioned for him to do so with a flick of her wrist.

"I heard you've changed offices," she said as they both sat on opposite sides of the sectional.

He assumed this piece of information was courtesy of Deimos and wondered if she'd asked about him or received the knowledge unsolicited. "Yes. I think it will a much better fit for me."

Scoffing, she said, "No, it won't be. Soltoi is the most powerful senator in the Council. You're hamstringing your career by alienating her."

"Maybe I'm just looking for a challenge."

Her mouth twitched towards a smile but she quickly clamped down on it. "Weyoun, you left me for your job. What do you expect from me?"

This reaction, while not the one he was hoping for (though a step up from having the door slammed in his face), was unsurprising. "Nothing. I just wanted to tell you." It was a lie. He wanted _her_, more, suddenly, than he'd ever wanted anything in his life.

She looked away from him, anger flaring briefly in her eyes. "Well, I already knew, so you're wasting your time."

Heavy silence enveloped the room. Finally, Weyoun cleared his throat and said, "Fine. I suppose I'll go, then."

Eris's nod was more of a jerk; she didn't look at him as he got to his feet and moved towards the door. Before he got there, however, he sighed, then turned back around to face her. "I handed Soltoi my entire life when I gave into her demand to end things with you. She knew she'd be able to control me, and that made me perfect as a senatorial candidate. I could be counted on never to oppose her or challenge her on anything." He hesitated. "That's why I resigned from her staff."

"So you didn't quit because of me."

"Eris." He failed miserably at keeping the desperate note out of his voice, so he paused, willing his tone back to its typical smoothness, and stared at her until she finally turned her head and met his eyes. The other reason was true. But not as true as what he was about to say. "Of course I did. She made it clear that she could give me the career I wanted, but only if it was without you. And I want you. I can find a career without Soltoi. You, though…you're irreplaceable."

There was a twitch in her face, around her eyes, and she didn't blink as she stared at him. "Don't be melodramatic."

He pressed his lips into a thin line and exhaled sharply through his nose. "I always knew that I was working for an authoritarian, antisocial tyrant. I didn't care until I met you."

She rose to her feet. "And you want me to ignore that you hurt and humiliated me; that you chose that authoritarian, antisocial tyrant because it would have furthered your prospects and your career. Maybe I've moved on, Weyoun. I've had a month. Maybe I've forgotten you."

His hands, at his sides, twisted so that they faced her, palms out. It was an echo of the most common gesture of religious obeisance. Maybe he should have prayed before coming here. "I don't think you have."

"I take that to mean that you haven't? That you've been pining for me ever since you broke it off?"

He stared at her levelly. "Eris, I can go or stay; it's your choice. Just tell me."

She laughed harshly, no doubt at the absurdity of someone like him imploring forthrightness from someone else. "Just tell you," she repeated. "As though it's that simple."

His shoulders dropped in a tiny, half-stifled sigh, and he stepped towards her. "It is."

There was a long silence. Out her large, open windows, Weyoun could see both of Kurill's moons, hanging low and large over the city. Eris's interface line pinged, but she ignored it, keeping her arms held straight at her sides as she stared at Weyoun. The harsh lines on her face were beginning to melt away to something more like desperation. "I can't help thinking you fell out of favor with Soltoi somehow. That you had nothing to lose by resigning."

Weyoun held her gaze matter-of-factly. "She offered me one of Tira Exarchate's junior senator seats. It was mine for the taking." He didn't blink as he stared into her eyes. "I turned her down."

Despite her best efforts, the surprise showed in her eyes before she blinked to hide it. "Is that supposed to make me feel flattered?"

"No," he said, fierceness creeping into his tone. "You asked if I had anything to lose and I told you the truth. I did. You _know_ I did; you said it yourself."

She was silent for a minute, and then she dropped her gaze away from his entirely. "You won't take no for an answer, will you?"

He started to take a step closer, but halted when she jerked her eyes back to him. "You haven't said no yet," he replied gently.

There was another long silence. Eris swallowed hard enough that the movement of her throat was visible and finally murmured unwillingly, "I don't want to forgive you."

Something about the way she said it made him remain still—he couldn't hear dismissal in her voice, not yet. All he heard was wavering indecision, her desire to withhold forgiveness and send him away warring with the fact that she was still in love with him. That much was obvious—because he could see in her eyes exactly what he'd been seeing in his own for the past month.

Suddenly, Weyoun didn't want to stand there anymore, doing nothing, waiting for an axe to fall when he knew what he wanted and had a feeling Eris did as well. Before he thought any more about it, he drew a deep breath through his nose, closed the distance between them, grabbed her shoulders in his hands, and kissed her.

There was just a second where she stiffened, probably kept her eyes open, and her mouth was certainly closed, but then that second passed, her lips parted, and she put her hands hesitantly to his chest, curling the tops of her fingers over his shoulders. Some noise escaped him; something like a desperate laugh, and she kissed him harder, sliding one arm around his neck, and he was, for the first time in a month, happy.

There was an infinite moment of connection between the two of them; his stupidity forgotten for a precious few minutes while they held onto each other, but then she broke away and put her hands on his chest, distancing herself from him. "I have to think about this," she said, breathlessness lending her tone a gentleness that he had no right to expect. Then, a smirk ghosted across her face. "This isn't going to be an easy decision."

"I deserve that," he murmured.

Eris reached a hand out, as though she was going to touch his face, but then withdrew it and met his eyes frankly. "I'm tempted to ask for your assurance that you'll never hurt me again."

It would have been easy to blithely give it to her. Maybe she would have even believed him; certainly she would have believed his sincerity. Instead, he straightened, holding her gaze. "That would be disingenuous of me," he replied, adding with a small smile, "And you know how I hate being disingenuous."

This time, she couldn't seem to stop herself from brushing her fingers down his face. "Your honesty buys you a little goodwill," she said softly.

He disregarded the fact that one of her palms was still flat against his chest, forcing distance between them, and put one of his hands on her hip. "The only assurance I can give you is that my feelings for you are never going to change."

A startled look flickered across her face, but then she shook herself and said, "_That's_ a bit disingenuous, don't you think?"

"Not at all."

"Then maybe it's just a bold claim for someone who put his career first and won't disregard the possibility of doing so again." Dropping her gaze away from his, she sighed and said, "As I said, I'm tempted to ask. I know better than to make such lofty demands, though."

Weyoun took her hand, removing it from his chest, and she let him, drawing her eyebrows together as she stared at her hand in his. "You said you need to think about this."

She nodded, hesitated, and finally said, "I won't let you wonder indefinitely. A week. No more." Then, she gently disentangled herself from him, taking several steps backwards. It was an unsubtle hint, and he took it, bowing his head slightly and turning towards the door to leave.

Before he could open the door, though, she spoke again, suddenly, as though she was surprising herself by saying anything. "Weyoun—" She grabbed his arm and when he turned back to face her, abruptly let go, as though she hadn't meant to touch him. For a moment, she stared at him, then said, "You never told me whether or not you agreed if Hellad Metro Center should be built."

He tilted his head at her in surprise. "Does it matter?" When she clasped her hands behind her back and nodded, he sighed through his nose. "At the time I didn't care. I appreciated that Yelar Industries razed the slums, and that was all. It was my job to win." At that, she raised her eyebrows. He shrugged, then continued, "I'm glad Soltoi lost. I couldn't care less if there's another shopping center in Tira City or not, but Soltoi needs to lose once in awhile. And I'm glad, now, that your excavation's still there. What you found there, it's…important." He hesitated, then finished, "And I'm glad that you're still here, and not excavating some High Classical site in Pegrill."

"All of the good High Classical sites in Pegrill have already been taken," she said softly. "And anyway, that's archaeology."

He smiled ruefully but decided that the best thing to do was to go and let her think, or not think, or whatever best led her to a decision. "Good-bye, Eris."

She bowed her head and this time, when he turned to leave, she didn't stop him. The whole thing had gone neither worse nor better than he'd expected—he'd refused to think about what the outcome of the meeting would be, and so he wasn't disappointed as he walked home, but rather caught in the same state of anticipation that he'd been in all week. Still, she could have slammed the door in his face when he'd arrived. In that regard, at least, it had gone well.

The following night, his interface line pinged as he was working on something for Parnon and eating a late, lukewarm dinner. He was on his feet immediately and at the interface terminal before he had time to think. Eris's face appeared, her eyes wide, as though she couldn't quite believe what she was doing. "Weyoun," she said in greeting.

"Eris," he returned, still on his feet. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She opened her mouth, then hesitated and closed it again, licking her lips. "I never told you that I admire what you did. Resigning from Soltoi's staff, that is." Furrowing her brow, she said, "I know it can't have been easy for you."

"I appreciate that," he said, sitting down slowly in the chair. "But is that why you called?"

"Well—no." She sighed, then bit her lip—trying to hold back a smile and failing miserably. "It turns out I didn't need as much time as I thought I did," she said, and though he knew that it was an illusion, that the cameras along its edges constructed the semblance of looking another person in the eye through the interface, he couldn't help feeling as though he was staring straight into her clear, violet gaze as she asked, "Would you like to have dinner together tomorrow?"


	5. Chapter 4

4

**60,054 (Kurillian Calendar)**

It wasn't that Soltoi didn't try to carry out her threat to destroy Weyoun. She made, however, two fatal errors: one, she underestimated Weyoun himself. He was a better diplomat than even she knew, and he wasted no time in strengthening his relationships with his friends in the media, other senatorial offices, and amongst the Complex lobbyists. Then he made overtures—and some promises—to those he knew he needed on his side: other powerful members of the Council, officials in the Tira Exarchate gubernatorial offices, and several of Soltoi's business friends.

The second mistake Soltoi made was underestimating the lengths that Parnon would go to protect his new senior aide. When Weyoun's younger brother was hunted down and incarcerated for a litany of petty crimes—Weyoun nearly felt a twinge of sympathy for the fact that one of his unsuspecting, gutter-bound siblings was getting embroiled in this—Parnon refused to rise to the bait. He refused to entertain the idea that Weyoun's lowly origins made him prone to some innate stupidity, or coarseness, or perversity which made him unsuitable for his position, and he treated as a joke the implication that Weyoun had come to work for him to take advantage of him in some way.

"You can't have it both ways," Parnon good-naturedly told one of the Complex reporters. "Either he's a simpleton or a criminal mastermind."

The reporters persisted for a few more questions, but Parnon repeatedly shut them down, and when Weyoun, standing in his office door, started to speak, the senator held up a hand to silence him. Once the two reporters left, one of them throwing a baleful look over her shoulder, Weyoun crossed his arms across his chest and leaned against the door frame. "They'll be back," he remarked.

Parnon nodded. "Don't talk to them," he said. "Just let me deal with it. Soltoi wants you to say something incriminating—I'm sure you wouldn't," he said before Weyoun could interrupt with that himself, "but don't give them an opportunity to twist what you _would _say into something that they can use."

At that, Weyoun raised his eyebrows, still leaning against the door frame. "That happens to be an expertise of mine."

With a grim smile, Parnon replied, "You're on the wrong side of the Complex reporters now, Weyoun. You may find that everything was easier when you were in their good graces."

Weyoun returned the same grim smile. "I knew what I was getting into when I asked for this position, Senator."

Parnon laughed. "I like your confidence, Weyoun."

It was a confidence that he felt was warranted, and not just because of his political skill. There was nothing on his own record that could be used against him besides his pedigree. He'd been an excellent student at the Exarchate school, an even better one at Tira University, and his abilities in the Complex spoke for themselves. Inevitably, Eris's name was dragged into things, and Weyoun endured a couple weeks of the assumption, just as Soltoi had predicted, that he'd lost the Hellad hearing for his former employer because of his romantic relationship. Of course, now his former employer was able to lay the blame completely as his feet, and she didn't hesitate to try—but conversely, the reaction that he got from his fellow aides was mostly good-natured ribbing. He'd developed a reputation as something of an ascetic throughout his time in the Complex, and a few of his closer associates were highly amused by the whole thing. Unsurprisingly, Eris was approached by a few reporters, but she flatly refused to answer questions about her personal life, and they gave up when university security stepped in.

"Luckily for you," she commented one night as they were sprawled together on the sectional in her living room, "my background is as clean as yours."

She was working on cataloguing finds for the day and he was staring idly out the window watching Vrilla, Kurill's largest moon, rise over Tira City's towers, though at that, he turned his head to regard her, his eyes slightly hooded. "I wouldn't say mine is _clean_," he remarked.

Eris flicked her eyes towards him but kept working as she replied, "Of course it is. It's not a crime to be born into the slums." When he made a noncommittal noise in response, she shifted so that she could stare him straight in the eyes. He couldn't help slipping his arm from around her shoulders to around her waist. "Caste can't mean anything unless you let it."

At that, he chuckled, and when she shot him a disgruntled look, he kissed her. "I'm glad _you _think so," he replied.

Eris glanced at her padd again, then switched it off and leaned forward to kiss him lightly. "You're all so concerned with appearances in Tira City," she said. "I'll never get used to that. In Pegrill no one cares where you come from."

"How utopian."

With a roll of her eyes, she poked a finger into his chest and said, "It's true."

Weyoun grinned. "I believe you."

She settled back, laying her padd on her chest, and pursed her lips. "No, you don't. You think I don't know how things really are in Pegrill because I grew up privileged in one of the exurbs."

"Eris," he said, putting a finger under her chin, "if you must know, I'm thinking about how beautiful you are."

"Hmph. Beautiful and naïve, I'm sure."

His grin widened. "Obviously."

She pushed against his chest lightly with the back of her hand, though a smile fought the aggrieved expression on her face. "Think whatever you want," she said airily, then, with a twitch of a smile, leaned towards him again and put her hands on either side of his face as she kissed him. The kiss deepened as he pulled her closer, and he was just about to slide his hand under her shirt when she pulled away abruptly and picked her padd up again from where it had fallen between them. The screen flickered to life and she glanced over at him, a crooked grin on her face. "But I'm not naïve."

His hand lingered at her hip, where the hem of her shirt lay. "Did I say you were naïve?"

Smiling, but keeping her eyes on her padd, she reached up and ran her fingers down his ear lightly. "Distinctly. And I need to get this cataloguing done tonight."

"Message received." He watched her fingers skitter across the screen for a moment before turning his attention back to the window. The only thing visible in the night sky besides Vrilla (Soura, the second, smaller moon, hadn't risen yet) was the bright red splotch of the Nebula. Weyoun had been given to understand that if one got far enough away from city lights, the galaxy itself was bright enough to be visible, though he'd never done it himself. The idea of being able to see stars, even as one indistinct, hazy smear across the sky, appealed to him, but he'd never been out of Tira City. And in Tira City, light pollution and weak Vorta eyesight combined to make for a starless sky. Most Vorta, throughout their entire lives, would look up at night and see only the two moons, Vrilla and Soura, and the Nebula.

It made him wonder, for the first time, if stars would be visible from space. Weyoun narrowed his eyes a little, then asked abruptly, "What do you think about sending a Vorta to Vrilla?"

"Vrilla?" Eris asked in surprise, glancing from her padd to him. "Why?"

Weyoun furrowed his brow but kept staring at the moon. "I don't really know," he admitted. "To live?"

"Isn't there enough room here?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

For a moment, he didn't answer. He hadn't thought much about Parnon's desire for manned spaceflight over the last several weeks, his priorities being otherwise engaged, but the senator had brought it up once or twice and so Weyoun knew he was serious about it. Finally, he said, "Parnon wants to send Vorta to space. He wants to build…bases on the moons. I think. Especially Vrilla. I don't understand why, but then, I don't really have to."

"The life of a political aide," Eris remarked dryly.

"Someday I'll be the one making the policy decisions."

"And your aides will ask their significant others what they think about those decisions in the same bewildered tones."

"Do I sound bewildered?"

She kissed him lightly on the temple. "Slightly. I enjoy it." When he raised an eyebrow at her, she added with a smile, "Even _you _need to be confused some of the time. It's healthy."

"Hm. I don't know about that," he replied, arranging his features into a less befuddled expression. "Anyway, I've told Parnon that people don't care about space, but he doesn't listen."

Eris tilted her head thoughtfully. "Maybe we don't care about space because no one's ever made us think about it."

Scoffing, Weyoun said, "Don't tell me that you're advocating politicians telling Vorta what to think."

"Not telling people _what _to think. Giving them a chance to think about it themselves." Her gaze drifted to the window. "There's nothing there for most of us to see—Vrilla, Soura, the Nebula—I've met people in Tira City who don't even know what stars are." Weyoun resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably at her words, remembering his own awe when he'd been taught, upon arriving at the exarchate school, that the washed out purple-black of the night sky was actually the vastness of the universe, and that it was filled with trillions upon trillions of suns just like theirs. Either he was successful at hiding his reaction or Eris didn't notice it, because she went on, "Maybe Parnon's right and we should go to space and build bases on the moons. I have a feeling that if anyone can convince the voting public, it's you."

For a long moment, he watched her, until she tilted her chin upwards as though daring him to challenge what she'd said. Then, he smiled. "You may be right. But I had no idea you found me that persuasive."

She pursed her lips in a smile. "Of course I do. You're here right now, aren't you?"

With a tiny laugh, he said, "True." Then, he said, "It's not that I'm opposed to the idea. And even if I was, it doesn't matter, because Parnon wants to do it. I just don't _understand _it."

Eris reached down and put her padd on the floor, then shifted so she was sitting up straighter, crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap as she did so. Her new position forced Weyoun to sit up as well, and she fixed him with a serious look. "Why don't we eat meat?"

Taken aback by this rapid change of subjects, Weyoun asked, "What?"

"Why don't we eat meat?" she reiterated. "You do that every day. Do you understand why?"

Weyoun blinked at her, but then said, reciting by rote, "After Kurill saw the cruelty with which the other Solids were treating the wounded Founder, he realized that hunting wasn't any different—"

"Right—and wrong," she said. When he gave her a nonplussed look, she went on, "We developed our immunity to poisonous foods because the Vanta had always out-competed Vorta for land that was suitable for growing everything else. We were forced into the forests where the nutrient-poor soil was only good for growing weeds and toxic plants."

"I know that."

She arched an eyebrow, then continued, "Because early Vorta were confined to the forests, they were also confined to food sources in the forest. And every other animal living there had that same immunity to the toxic plants, since it was the main food source. Now, the toxin that most of those plants contain magnifies through the food chain, so that by the time Vorta were killing and eating these animals, the level of poison in them was high enough to be toxic. So Vorta stopped eating meat, and we never started again, even after we had access to non-toxic foods."

Weyoun stared at her for a moment. "Thank you for the lecture. The moral of the story, I assume, is that I'm perfectly capable of doing things that I don't understand?"

Smiling, she said, "It was more of an illustration."

"All right, I get the point. I should try to understand Parnon?"

"It can't hurt, can it? And it would probably make you a better aide."

For another second or two, he just looked at her, and then a smile twitched onto his face. "Didn't you say you needed to finish that cataloguing tonight? Because you don't seem to be working all that diligently on it."

Tilting her chin upwards, she replied, "That's because I'm giving you advice. I was just about to go back to it—"

He caught her hand before she reached for the padd again and brought it to his mouth, holding her gaze as he kissed the inside of her wrist lingeringly. "And how can I ever thank you for the advice?" he asked in a low voice.

Eris's smile grew secretive. "I can't tell you how tempting it is to say 'let me finish my work'."

"Oh, I know you better than that."

At that, she leaned forward and twined her arms around him. "In that case, you can repay me by helping me to recover from the month of celibacy that I endured."

That was a proposition that was easily fulfilled. It would have been a very bad and blatant lie to say that he hadn't missed the sex while he and Eris hadn't been together. But now that he spent every day besieged in his office by people doing their best to destroy his career—sometimes it felt like his life—he found that he not only wanted Eris, he _needed _her; needed that visceral emotional connection to another Vorta. To her.

Things had been awkward between them when they'd first reconciled. Regardless of their strong feelings for each other, Weyoun was fully aware that he had wronged her, and that her trust might not be as freely given as it had been before. At first they hadn't even known exactly what to talk about, but gradually the ease between them had returned; perhaps with a certain maturity that had been missing before. His actions lent themselves to thinking about the future—maybe quitting his job with Soltoi and beginning one with Parnon had been done partly on instinct, but instinct wouldn't have driven him to make such a sweeping change in his life if part of him hadn't known that he wanted Eris in it for a long time.

The difficulties that both of them were facing because of his…inter-office move, at least, weren't an issue between them. He worried after the first time she was hounded by reporters that she might regret rekindling their relationship; when he nonchalantly mentioned this to her, she snorted in laughter and kissed him. As far as his own harassment went, he preferred to keep it to himself, and she never pried. Her sympathy was always boundless, though, when he told her anything—and he confined himself to the mildest of what was said about him, because he didn't want her dragged into it. Or, if he was honest with himself, her pity.

Several weeks later, there was a bad moment that he couldn't keep from her, as he was called as a character witness to his brother's trial. There was no avoiding the association with the slums, then—which was exactly the point. Law required him to appear, and he knew that Soltoi was the one who had made sure that his presence had been requested. Ostensibly he was there at the defense's request, though he knew that whatever he said wouldn't matter; the mere fact of him admitting that his brother was a slum criminal was enough to be damaging.

He barely recognized his brother—in fact, the only reason he did was because the younger Uldron was sitting in the defendant's chair, looking sullen and a little baffled. It was no wonder—the crimes he'd been brought in on were the sorts of things that people got away with every minute of every day in the slums, and yet he'd been caught and charged. Weyoun's evidence was utterly useless; he hadn't seen his brother since he'd gone to university at the age of sixteen, and his brother had only been nine years old at the time. Everyone in the room knew it was a charade—politics at their most malicious—everyone except Weyoun's brother, who looked befuddled first, and then hurt when Weyoun's testimony was vague and impersonal.

After the trial, Weyoun got out as quickly as he could, ignoring his name when his brother shouted it across the chamber. Sending money was one thing—and he'd kept sending the same amount, despite the decrease in his salary—but he didn't need interaction with this part of his past that he'd cut off a long time ago.

He was glad that no one was able to track down his sister, whom he knew had been, as of several years ago, making a living—if one could call it that—in one of the slum charnel houses. Prostitution was most definitely illegal, and the sorts of things that went on in the charnel houses crossed every line of decency. Weyoun spent one sleepless night certain that she'd be found and that his career would come crashing down around his ears the next morning. She never was. It made him wonder if she was dead. When he finally stopped feeling ill about Soltoi's people finding her and wondered aloud to Eris if his younger sister was still alive, she looked at him mildly and asked, "Do you care if she's dead or not?"

Weyoun paused and thought for a moment, then answered, "I suppose it would be better for everyone if she was."

Eris looked unsurprised and untroubled by his callousness, and that was the end of the conversation. It was the last time he'd discuss his siblings with her.

It wasn't just Soltoi's campaign of slander that took its toll on him in the Complex. He was a political aide and he loved the work, but since coming to work for Parnon he'd barely had any opportunity to do what he was good at. As the next election drew closer and closer, Weyoun's patience began to fray, and finally, on yet another day that his employer cheerfully told him to stay in the offices, it snapped.

"Senator," he said in frustration, "I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I can't stay shut up in this office indefinitely. If you want me to conduct your re-election campaign, I'm going to have to make an appearance once in awhile. In a month your challengers are all going to declare their candidacies and you're not going to have a head start on _any _of them." He stopped to draw in a breath. "This is not how one wins campaigns, but it's exactly how one _loses _them."

"Weyoun," Parnon interjected, his tone more severe than Weyoun had ever heard it, "I shouldn't have to tell you how long Soltoi's reach is." Weyoun had been about to interrupt, but he abruptly shut his mouth at this, allowing Parnon to go on, "I'm pleased that you're so enthusiastic about my campaign, but this is about more than me winning this seat again. If she succeeds in slandering you, it's not going to matter how tirelessly you're working for me—no one will listen to you, and at that point I'll likely be so tied to you that they won't listen to me, either. But more importantly for you, if any of the mud she's throwing sticks, you'll never be anything more than an aide. You'll never have a political career in this Complex." Parnon gave him a serious look. "And not only do I know that you _want _a career in the Complex, I know that you deserve one. I don't want to see Soltoi destroy your chances of a Senate seat."

Too surprised to say anything for a moment, Weyoun just stared. Then, finally, he asked, "Why?"

Parnon's customary easy smile swept back onto his face and he said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, "I like you. Always have. I always wondered what you'd be like once you got out from under Soltoi's thumb—and now I'm about to find out."

After a moment, Weyoun gave him a wry smile. "_If _you let me get you re-elected."

With a chuckle, the senator replied, "Let's give it another week or two. It's already dying down, but I want to be sure."

Weyoun sighed. "Most senators would have already fired me for being half this much trouble. Soltoi certainly would have."

"And that's why you came to work for me, isn't it?" At Weyoun's inarticulate noise of agreement, Parnon went on, "Anyway, you'll be worth it, once this dies down. Especially considering the pittance of a salary you agreed to."

With a derisive snort at his own expense, Weyoun remarked, "Don't remind me." Then, immediately realizing it had been inappropriate, he glanced swiftly towards Parnon, his mouth already open to apologize.

Parnon waved him into silence. "Stop. That was good. You're learning."

Weyoun shut his mouth immediately and stared at Parnon. "Learning?" he finally asked quizzically.

"To not be so uptight." With that, Parnon clapped him on the shoulder. "Now, I'm sure you have _some _kind of work to be doing?"

There was always work to be done for a senior aide, and Weyoun said as much before busying himself with it. That, in fact, was the one other thing that kept Soltoi from destroying Weyoun's career—he had run her office for five years, and without him she was scrambling to keep everything in order. It gave him a perverse pleasure to hear that paperwork wasn't being submitted on time, or that a junior aide whose work had been consistently sub-par, leaving Weyoun to pick up his slack, had been fired. Parnon's prediction that within a few weeks the scandal would die down proved to be true, and Weyoun finally was able to get to work on the re-election campaign.

Up until that point, he'd been working on the senator's pet project—manned spaceflight. He finally stopped by Deimos's office to discuss it, and his friend was immediately intrigued, promising to look into the feasibility of it. Weyoun assumed that meant some information might be coming his way in a week—or whenever Deimos found some time.

Instead, he received a padd full of cost analyses the following day, and when he showed it to Parnon, the senator said, "Ah, you must be getting me on good terms with the science lobby." Weyoun inclined his head in agreement and watched while Parnon studied the figures. "I'd like to present this to the Council," he said slowly.

"I can prepare a speech for you," Weyoun said immediately.

Parnon looked as though he was going to object and insist he could do it himself, but then he nodded. "That would be helpful, thank you."

It took him two days to write it, and he had Deimos look over his final draft before bringing it back up to Parnon's office. "Inspiring and informative," Deimos proclaimed once he'd read it.

Weyoun, his arms crossed as he leaned against the wall, asked, "Can I count on your support if we get the votes to introduce legislation?"

"Of course. And have you stopped by geology? They're finishing up a new report that says Pegrill's dilithium deposits will be depleted within the next fifteen years, and I'm sure you're aware that Soura's deposits are abundant enough to last centuries."

"_Possibly _depleted," Weyoun said, cocking his head slightly. "I thought there was some question about that."

"Are you a politician or aren't you?" Deimos asked.

Weyoun grinned ruthlessly. "I have an appointment with them tomorrow."

Holding the padd out, Deimos said, "Good. I think the rest of the lobby will fall into place. Well, maybe not oceanography, but they're alienating everyone with their insistence on trying to convert that algae into fuel."

"Still?" Weyoun asked, taking the padd back and thumbing it off.

Deimos rolled his eyes. "Exactly." With another grin, Weyoun turned to go, but then Deimos said, "By the way, you might want to warn Eris that Soltoi's people have been sniffing around here looking for support to reopen the Hellad case."

He paused in the doorway and grimaced, unsurprised. If Soltoi couldn't get to him, then Eris was the next best thing. "I will. Thank you." The news wouldn't shock Eris either, but it would certainly spur her to work even harder than she already was. She'd already off-handedly remarked that she doubted she'd have another full season at the site, and though she hadn't explicitly singled out Soltoi as the reason, she hadn't needed to.

Upon returning to Parnon's office, Weyoun, distracted by thoughts of his appointment with the science lobby's head geologist the following day, dropped the padd with the speech on it on Parnon's personal assistant's desk, saying absently, "Can you look over this for me?"

The young woman, Leto, picked it up and swiped her fingers across it, then read, "'Manned spaceflight: economics and impacts'. What's this?"

He stopped in the doorway to his office, catching one hand on the doorframe as he turned and stared at her in surprise. "It's a speech. For Parnon to give in the Council tomorrow."

"And you want me to look it over for…?"

"Flow," Weyoun replied impatiently. "Content. Mistakes."

Leto stared at the padd, then looked back up to him. "Foros always writes his own speeches."

Founders, did they all call him by his first name in this office? "Be that as it may," Weyoun said, refusing to turn entirely back around to face her, "I wrote this one."

"Hm." She lowered her eyes to the padd again and Weyoun, assuming she understood what he was asking, removed his hand from the doorframe and continued into his office. Then, Leto's voice stopped him as she asked, "Is that what you did for Soltoi? Write speeches?"

The challenge in her voice was unmistakable and Weyoun shut his eyes briefly in irritation. He didn't have time to deal with this, but if Parnon's staff viewed him as an interloper on their territory, then he _needed _to deal with it immediately. None of them had been forthright about it, but he'd sensed a certain resistance to his presence on several occasions. In addition to Leto and Weyoun, there were three other staff members in the office: Rayik, Sitka, and Bethyun. Sitka and Bethyun were both junior aides, both in their middle years, and both had children and older parents living in their homes. Apparently both had refused to take the senior aide position on the basis of the time that it demanded. Rayik was in his thirties and was Parnon's publicity staffer, though he'd never had much to do. With any luck, that would change soon.

It was a small staff, but not unheard of for a senator of Parnon's stature. Unquestionably, the strongest personality in the office was Leto. She couldn't have been more than nineteen but she was clearly used to running things to the extent that she'd been able to. There were a few times that Weyoun had suspected that her background was similar to his, but he barely knew the woman beyond her name and never would have asked. Besides, she'd been vaguely hostile to him since he'd taken up his position there, and it seemed that the rest of the staff followed her lead.

Turning around and slowly approaching her desk, he replied, "I was Soltoi's senior aide. I did whatever she needed me to do."

Leto brushed a strand of her dark brown hair out of her eyes and gave him a distrustful look. "You always had a reputation as being Soltoi's heir." The note of challenge in her tone strengthened. "What are you doing working here, now?"

He studied her. "You can't possibly think I'm here as some sort of saboteur on Soltoi's orders," he said. "Not after all the effort she's spent trying to get me out of the Complex."

Bristling at the mockery in his voice, Leto replied, "I don't know _why _you're here. This office functioned just fine without you, and now that you're here you're trying to take over."

Weyoun glanced around. Parnon was out, and Bethyun, Sitka, and Rayik were at lunch. Taking a step closer to the desk, he said, "You were all going to be out of jobs in six months. No one wanted the senior aide position because they all knew what a hopeless cause this office was."

"And _you're _going to save us," Leto said sarcastically.

"Not to put too fine a point on it," Weyoun replied coolly.

She scoffed. "I should have known you'd be so arrogant."

"And would you rather I was a spy for Soltoi or here to make sure Parnon keeps his seat?" he shot back. Leto glared but didn't answer, and Weyoun forced himself to tone down the exasperation in his voice. "We're on the same side, you know."

"Why, _thank _you; I hadn't noticed," she said.

So much for dealing with her hostility. The two of them glared at each other for another minute, and then Weyoun asked coldly, nodding towards the padd, "Are you going to look that over or not?"

She snatched it up and glared it him over the top of it. "I'll have it back to you by the end of the day," she snapped.

With a curt nod, he turned his back on her, went into his office, and shut the door to work on the campaign. With Leto's resistance to his presence, he doubted that her thoughts on the speech would be useful, but he'd already asked her to look at it and couldn't rescind that request without alienating her further. It had been a reflexive gesture to ask her to read it, anyway; something he'd done in Soltoi's office. But Leto was too young to have a university degree, and what kind of political acumen could she possibly have without one? No, he doubted her advice would be helpful, but there was no harm in letting her read the speech. It was easier to ignore anything she might say than ask for the padd back at this point.

When, at 18:00, Leto knocked on his door, entered, and dropped the padd on his desk, he was even a bit surprised that she'd bothered reading it at all. He thanked her and then glanced back down to the work that he was trying to complete before he left for the night. Then, he realized Leto was still standing there, her hands on her hips as she stared at him. He lifted his eyes to her again, and she asked, "Do you really think all of that?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "All of what? What I wrote in the speech?"

"Obviously."

"Does it matter?"

Leto stared at him without responding for a moment, then replied, "I was just curious," before turning and walking out, shutting the door behind her harder than she needed to.

Weyoun blinked in bemusement for a second, then picked the padd up, fully prepared to disregard Leto's suggestions on the speech.

Instead, when he arrived the following morning, early as usual but not early enough to beat her there, he said sincerely the moment he saw her, "Leto—thank you for your suggestions. They were…quite constructive."

She looked at him warily for a minute, searching his face for any disingenuousness. "You're welcome," she finally replied, sounding begrudging. "I'm glad it was useful. I want Foros to have the best chance of introducing the manned spaceflight legislation."

The use of Parnon's given name annoyed him and he almost said something to her about it, but then he stopped himself. _He _was the newcomer here. What they wanted to call Parnon in the office wasn't, in the end, any of his business. As long as the staff represented him well outside the office, it didn't _really _matter. So he bowed his head and said, "This will certainly help."

Leto held herself still, then nodded. "Good." After a hesitation, she added stiffly, "Please tell me if I can be of any more help to you."

"I will, thank you." A day ago, it would have been a lie, but now he meant it.

For another moment, the two of them stared at each other, both of them measuring the other while trying to be as discrete about it as possible. There was a grudging look on her face, not quite of acceptance, but certainly closer to that than he'd been with any of Parnon's staff so far, and she nodded to him again before he continued into his office.

The speech went well; so well, in fact, that a simple majority vote on whether or not to introduce legislation was scheduled. Another speech would be required; a certain amount of debate would occur—it was a hearing in miniature, conducted in the space of half a day. It would take place in three weeks, which was just enough time to be deceptively distant, though of course it wasn't—it gave Weyoun fifteen days to provide the necessary evidence, write the next speech, and develop a plan of attack with Parnon, all of this in addition to the work he was doing on the re-election campaign.

Several days later, Weyoun put the finishing touches on the week's campaign schedule that he'd been working on for his employer, then brought it over to Parnon's office, entering with a knock and putting the padd down in front of the senator before he sat down. "You're going to have a busy week," he said as Parnon picked up the padd and scrolled through it.

"Three speeches at Tira University?" Parnon asked, sounding amused.

"In three different departments. Rayik helped me set them up so they look like normal policy speeches." He clasped his hands and planted them on the edge of the desk. "We want the academic vote. If Soltoi's candidate becomes the frontrunner he or she will go after them—and they've never been all that fond of Soltoi, so you can depend on it being an aggressive bid for their support."

Parnon was still scrolling through the list of speaking engagements. "This is quite a few campaign speeches considering campaign season doesn't begin for three weeks."

"And when campaign season _does _begin in three weeks, you'll already have all of the people who hear these speeches thinking of _you _first, and the rest of the candidates will need to give them a reason to change their votes." He paused and added, "That's the theory, anyway."

"It's a sound one." Parnon looked distant for a moment. "The intellectuals voted for me five years ago because they projected all their hopes and desires onto me, just like the rest of the exarchate." When Weyoun raised his eyebrows, Parnon's mouth quirked upwards in a smile. "I preyed upon Tira's surge of idealism last time, not entirely disingenuously, but I'm afraid I haven't been able to live up to most of the lofty expectations the people had for me."

"Well, as you say, they were projecting," Weyoun replied, studying Parnon. The two of them had never discussed his campaign of five years ago. It had been a fluke victory, just as Soltoi had observed, and it was interesting that Parnon realized it as well. Interesting and encouraging, because it meant that the senator knew that a different strategy would be needed this time. "Conditions were…favorable, five years ago, for your election. No one liked Soltoi or Nesenoi's tax reforms—"

"Which I've failed to roll back," Parnon interjected thoughtfully.

Weyoun smiled thinly. "Not for lack of trying. You plagued Soltoi about those reforms much longer than she'd been prepared to deal with and she hated it. It's a good enough start to narrative. And as I'm sure you know, so much of politics is establishing the right narrative."

"Leto's been saying the same thing for months. I'm afraid I've repeatedly disappointed her by displaying a persistent pessimism about the efficacy of her suggestions."

"Really?" Weyoun asked, surprised by this bit of information about Leto. Then, realizing how dismissive that sounded, he amended, "I…didn't realize she was interested in those sorts of details."

Distantly, Parnon replied, "She'll make someone a good aide someday." Then, his gaze snapped back into focus. "I assume I can rely on you to have these speeches prepared for me in a reasonable amount of time? I'd like to go over them and make any necessary changes."

"Of course, Senator," Weyoun replied. Parnon gave him a look of resigned amusement at the honorific, but he pretended not to see it. He refused to cross that line. He was an employee, not a friend, and he was perfectly content that way.

* * *

There was no doubt about it, Parnon was an inspiring speaker. Weyoun accompanied him to each of his Tira University engagements, sitting unobtrusively in the back of the room each time, and he was consistently impressed by the senator's ability to draw in a crowd of disparate people and make them act almost as one; leaning forward in their seats at the right time and back in others, drawing laughter and sometimes, it seemed, making them breathe in concert. People _listened _to Parnon, just as they listened to Soltoi, and Weyoun paid close attention, because he wanted to draw the same focused attention someday.

"You're very good at this," he said after the third and final speech, when Parnon had finished several private conversations with attendees and the university's technical staff was beginning to clear the room. The speeches had grown progressively better attended throughout the week, pleasing Weyoun. Classes weren't in session, since it was the dry season, but by the third speech, quite a few students were in attendance, as well as academics and other intellectuals. The mere fact of their presence was heartening, but the fact that they'd seemed interested and engaged in what Parnon had to say was even better.

Parnon smiled at him. "Plenty of the credit goes to you for writing the speeches."

Weyoun inclined his head in thanks, but said, "No amount of clever rhetoric can do what I've seen you do all week. People _like _you, Senator. At least, they want to." The challenge was taking that instinctive attraction and turn it into electoral support. He wished he had some idea of who they'd be running against, but Campaign Control was being very tight-lipped this campaign season.

That reminded him of the work he needed to do on building that narrative for Parnon, and he resolved to speak to Leto, the ally he hadn't even known he'd had, as soon as he could. He was hoping, in fact, to find her at her desk when he returned from Tira University, and he was rewarded by the sight of her dark head bent over something on her desk when he walked through the door. Drawing a breath, he slid a plate onto her desk that held a spiced vegetable roll, still steaming from the canteen, where he'd stopped before coming up. "I thought you might want something to eat," he said.

She looked up at him, and then at the plate, a wary expression already on her face. "I was about to go to lunch."

"Well, now you don't need to waste your time in the canteen," he said pleasantly.

Her eyes narrowed. "What do you want, Weyoun?"

The smile on his face widened fractionally. "Leto," he said, leaning against her desk, "I wonder if I might ask you for a favor."

"It depends what it is," she replied, her expression still wary. "If you have to bribe me with food you must think I'm going to say no."

"The food was a peace offering."

"Appeasement, you mean."

"I wouldn't go that far," he said, a wounded note in his voice.

"What's the favor?" she asked impatiently.

Leaning his arms on her desk, he said, "Parnon mentioned that you've been giving him campaign advice."

"I suppose you have a problem with that—"

"On the contrary," Weyoun interrupted smoothly. "From what he says you were giving him exactly the right advice."

This seemed to surprise her enough that she was reduced to suspicious silence for a minute, until she asked, "What do you need?"

"I need you to go back through Parnon's legislative record from the past five years. I need a strong narrative for our employer. A storyline that we can present to the voting public. I'd prefer it to be his valiant struggle against the entrenched interests of Soltoi and her cohorts, but I'll take anything. Oh, and if you wouldn't mind pulling the access codes for any science related case files, that would be helpful as well." Weyoun took a breath. "Is that all right?"

Leto stared at him for a moment, and then she nodded. "Yes. I'll start working on it right away. And I'll have the access codes for you this afternoon." Glancing wryly at the vegetable roll, she added, "Just as soon as I finish my lunch."

Weyoun put his hands together in front of himself. "Thank you." Two weeks until campaign season officially began. Parnon's office would be ready.

* * *

"Loura Thelesoi," Weyoun announced, brandishing a padd as he walked through the office door, slightly winded from having rushed up to the fourth floor from the Office of Campaign Control. Two of the three lifts had been out of order and he hadn't wanted to wait for the functioning one with every other senior aide involved in the election cycle. Campaign Control had released the full list of declared candidates at 7:00 sharp, only minutes ago, and Weyoun had been on hand to receive Parnon's allocated padd. "She's the one you're going to have to defeat," he added. Leto, the only one in the office besides Parnon at such an early hour, glanced up at him as he put a hand on her desk, trying to catch his breath.

Parnon offered the pot of _kava_ on Leto's desk to Weyoun, who waved it away. "You know her," Parnon said.

"I worked with her for years." Weyoun handed him the padd that contained the list of declared candidacies. There were six names on it, including Parnon's, but most senate races became, in the end, a contest between three candidates; sometimes only two. "She replaced me as Soltoi's senior aide."

Leto stood and craned her neck to peer at the padd that Parnon was now scanning. "How do you know she's going to be the frontrunner?" she asked.

"Soltoi will make sure of it," Weyoun said darkly. "This is personal for her now. She wants Senator Parnon," he nodded to his employer, "out of the Complex for hiring me."

"And she probably sees this as her last chance for a shot at you, too," Leto said, meeting his eyes.

"Oh, I very much doubt that it will be, but I agree that she's thinking in those terms," Weyoun said, leaning nonchalantly against the desk.

Parnon's eyes flicked over the padd. "What do you know about the rest of the candidates?"

"Not very much. One is a businessman. There's a former cleric. And Rousoi, fifth down—she's a perennial candidate. Runs every chance she gets and has never had any hope of winning."

"Yes, I recognize the name. I think she was one of my opponents five years ago," Parnon said, then added, "I see the head of the Department of Agriculture is running."

"He could be a challenge," Weyoun admitted.

Shaking his head, Parnon said, "I don't think so. I know him. He's good with apiaries and dairy cows—people, not quite to the same extent."

"I wonder why he's running?" Weyoun mused.

Leto raised her eyebrows at him. "Does it matter? We just need to beat him."

"I find people's motivations fascinating," Weyoun replied, but inclined his head in acknowledgement of her point.

Pouring himself another cup of _kava_,Parnon said, "So then, here we are. I suppose I'll have to give a real speech later to everyone, but just so the two of you are aware: for the next three months, this office is your life. Your personal lives will be nonexistent; your families will wonder if you're still alive. I'm not interested in losing this election, and I'm counting on my staff to do everything that they need to do to ensure that outcome. I assume you're both aware of what you'll be facing, because you're still here." He paused to look at them both in turn. "But you'd better tell me if there's a problem now, because I don't want to find out on the night of the first debate that you're not up to doing your jobs."

"What's the real speech going to be like?" Leto asked, raising an eyebrow and flashing a smile at Weyoun, which he returned.

Parnon seemed to relax. "I'll take that to mean you're able and willing to get through the next three months."

At that moment, Rayik walked through the door, cutting off what would have been two avowals in the affirmative, and Weyoun turned to him, saying briskly, "Good, you're here early. We need to schedule campaign speeches this morning."

Offering Rayik the _kava_, Leto remarked to Parnon, "You don't need to worry about Weyoun. He'd work himself to an early death in your service."

"I have a job to do and I plan to do it," Weyoun replied coolly, though without malice.

Rayik looked vaguely overwhelmed to be faced with this so early in the morning, but he gamely offered, "I sent a message to one of my friends in Telecorps to see if we can't get a press conference by the end of the week. Good morning, by the way, Foros."

Parnon returned the greeting and then held out the padd to the other man, saying, "The field of candidates. Take a look."

Running his eyes down the list before handing it back, Rayik noted, "Thelesoi. I suppose that's not surprising."

"You know her too?" Leto asked.

"I know _of _her through Soltoi's publicity staffer. We're friends," he added defensively when he caught Weyoun rolling his eyes.

"Yeroi's engaged," Weyoun informed him.

"I know," Rayik sighed.

"And as pressing as your unrequited passion for Yeroi no doubt is," Weyoun said unsubtly, "I really need to arrange these campaign events with you."

Parnon chuckled and said, "I'll be in my office preparing for today's Council session, if any of you need me."

They bid him farewell for the moment, and as Weyoun impatiently watched Rayik go through his briefcase, readying his padds, Leto remarked with a wicked grin, "You shouldn't force your self-imposed lovelessness on others, Weyoun."

"_He _isn't loveless," Rayik said, preempting Weyoun's response. "You date that Hellad anthropologist, don't you? Everyone said you threw the case because of her."

"_Telecorps _said I threw the case," Weyoun replied dryly, "because Soltoi told them that. And your friend Yeroi, no doubt." Rayik's head stayed buried in his desk and he said something muffled in response, but Leto was staring hard at him. "What?" Weyoun asked.

"You really _do _date that anthropologist?" she asked.

He raised his eyebrows. "Does that surprise you?"

For a second, she didn't answer, but then she shrugged. "I assumed it was just a story that Soltoi came up with to discredit you."

"Throwing the case was a fabrication." He hesitated. "I do have a personal life, though, difficult as that may be to believe." Then, feeling uncomfortable, he sighed, "Rayik, what are you doing?"

The other man got to his feet, his arms full of padds. "I'm ready." When Weyoun gave him a flat look, he added, "Oh, right, your office."

Weyoun glanced at the pot of _kava _and finally relented, pouring himself a cup. He was going to need it for the next three months—no use pretending otherwise. By the end of the season, the whole office might require the caffeine on an IV drip.

* * *

As campaign season progressed, Parnon began drawing larger crowds and more media attention. His poll numbers slipped at first, an expected occurrence that owed more to increased engagement from the voting public than a reaction to policy. Parnon continued to work on not only his manned spaceflight legislation, but also a number of other projects, but most of his attention had to be focused on the election. His aides did what they could to shoulder that workload, but ultimately, it was the senator who was running, not them, and he had to devote almost as much of his time to it as they did.

The first debate was a great success: Parnon and Thelesoi were the undisputed winners, and a few days later, the head of the Department of Agriculture dropped out of the race. Media had taken to hanging around Parnon's offices, sensing that, somehow, he'd resurrected his chances of winning his seat back, after years of accepted Complex wisdom saying he'd be a one-termer.

One night, two months into campaign season, Leto appeared in the doorway to Weyoun's office, pulling on a jacket and holding a stack of padds and simple paper prints. Weyoun finished what he was entering into the interface and glanced up at her, his eyebrows raised questioningly. "You look busy, but I was curious if you'd like to canvas with me," she said. "I'm going to Kiyu."

"Kiyu?" Weyoun asked, the district name startling him. "You're joking."

"No, why should I be?"

Giving her an incredulous look, Weyoun asked, "You canvas in the _slums_?"

Leto nodded, untroubled by his tone or his expression. "How else would those districts be told who to vote for?"

Weyoun crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back, ignoring, for the moment, the fact that members of a senator's staff didn't canvas at _all_. "Those people don't vote."

"Don't they?" Leto retorted. "I know they don't vote for Soltoi, but they voted for Foros in the last election. You've looked at the district statistics, haven't you?" At the flicker of consternation that passed over his face, she raised her eyebrows. "Oh dear, Weyoun. Ignored the gutter districts, did you?" She leaned closer to him, giving him an intense look. "I come from there, too. That's why I want to make it _better _for 'those people', as you call them."

"A bleeding heart," he said with an arched eyebrow. "Why am I not surprised?"

Leto snorted at his tone. "What do _you _want to change?" she asked.

"Who says I want to change anything?"

The young woman cocked her head. "So all of your ambition and drive is just for maintaining the status quo?"

Shifting his crossed arms, Weyoun replied, "I've done very well by the status quo."

She rolled her eyes. "I don't know why you're lying, but fine. I won't pry any further."

"That strikes me as the best course of action." He eyed the padds and prints in her arms. "And yes, I'm far too busy to go canvassing in the slums."

"Fine," she said. "Don't stay too late; you look half-dead already."

With a wry smile, Weyoun said, "Thanks for the concern. Be careful in Kiyu." It wasn't the most dangerous, nor the most destitute of the gutter districts, but it was still a slum, and anyone who looked like they didn't belong there was at risk for pick-pocketing at the least.

She waved away his concern and Weyoun returned to his work, losing himself in it until the words on the interface blurred together and he realized that unless he was planning on sleeping in his office, he should probably go home.

He had granted access to his building and flat on Eris's ID disc some time ago, but it still startled him when he walked into his flat and found her sitting in the living room. Padds and paper documents— there was a certain air of antiquarianism to the latter that somehow suited her—were spread out on the low table in front of her, and she looked up at him as he entered. "Do you get home this late every night?" she asked, straightening up.

"Yes," he replied. "That's why you haven't seen me in weeks."

"I know, and I needed to remedy that."

He glanced at his wrist chronometer. Almost 25:00, and he'd be at the Complex by 6:30 tomorrow to prepare for the season's second debate between the field of senatorial candidates, which had been winnowed down, in the preceding two months, from six to four. "What are you working on?" he asked, dropping down next to her on the sectional.

Showing him the padd she was holding in her lap, she said, "Occupation levels at Hellad. There's been a lot of disturbance at the site so it's been difficult to pin down what dates to when. But," she added, "I'm still sure about those footprints."

Weyoun put an arm around her shoulders and leaned back, letting his head fall against the seat back and closing his eyes. "How's your paper coming about that?"

"Ploddingly. It's a big subject." She put a hand on his leg and asked, "Have you eaten?"

"Oh, most likely. It's difficult to recall that sort of prosaic detail these days."

Eris laughed. "Then I'll leave the leftovers I brought in the cooler for you to consume at some later date."

Her concern for him was probably more than he deserved, and all he could do was smile and take her hand, raising it to his lips to kiss it. "Spend the night," he said, turning his head, opening his eyes and meeting hers.

"Obviously," she replied, curling her fingers around his.

* * *

Nervous excitement thrummed through Weyoun as he stood backstage in Tira City's largest performance hall, waiting for the debate to begin as he absently fiddled with his headset. It was a week before the election and this, the fifth and final debate, was Parnon's last chance to reach a large number of voters with his platform. It was also the most demanding test of a candidate's knowledge and understanding—both of current _and _archaic issues that faced not only the exarchate, but the entire planet. Each candidate was allowed one staffer back stage—usually his or her senior aide—who was equipped with an earpiece and microphone to provide information, if needed. The candidate couldn't request specific information, so it was up to the aide to find what was needed quickly enough to be useful. It was nerve-wracking for the candidate, but it was just as much so for the aide. A poor performance in a fifth debate had been the end of many an aide's ambitions.

Weyoun was utterly in his element.

On the other side of the room, one of Soltoi's junior aides, now apparently acting as Thelesoi's senior aide, kept his eyes studiously averted from Weyoun. The third candidate remaining in the race was Gelnon Eron, a private businessman, and his senior aide was muttering rapidly into her headset, one hand pressed over the earpiece and the other resting on her hip. She shot a quick smile to Weyoun and he returned it, pleased that someone else in this campaign had some decorum.

He tapped a button on the headset. "Ten minutes, Senator."

After a second, Parnon's voice sounded in his ear. "_The crowd looks excited_."

With a smile, Weyoun replied, "They should be; this is politics at their finest. Do you need anything, by the way?"

"_No_," Parnon replied. "_As long as you can hear the proceedings up here?_"

"Very clearly; we've done three sound checks." A tech on the other side of the room signaled to him at that moment and Weyoun caught his eye and nodded, adding, "And we're doing a final one now. Good luck, Senator."

"_Thank you. You too._"

The connection cut, Weyoun gestured that he was ready for the last sound check before the debate began. Though the room was insulated, it couldn't quite block out the dull murmur of the crowd on the other side of the wall. The final debate of the campaign season always drew a large audience, but with the race so wide open, it sounded even larger than usual.

Once the sound check was completed, an aide from Campaign Control bustled in and read them the rules of conduct for the debate, wished them luck, and strode off again, speaking in clipped tones into his headset. The three aides nodded to each other, both to wish each other well and to acknowledge the opposition between them, before decamping to the tables that had been set up for them and their materials. Weyoun's shoulders tensed and he rolled them back, trying to relax, then took a deep breath and put his palms flat on the table. The room was completely silent—all three of them were sitting utterly still, not bothering to try to cram any last minute information into their brains.

There was a noticeable swell in the noise level from the other side of the wall, and then the feed in Weyoun's ear went live as the debate started. For the next two hours, he had no time to think, he could only reel off facts and figures to Parnon, which he either knew by heart or had to locate quickly in the padds spread across the table. It was draining, exhausting work; he felt, at the end of it, as though he'd been awake for days, and that his mind needed nothing so much as to shut off any higher brain functions remaining and operate solely from the brain stem.

Thelesoi's and Eron's aides looked as shell-shocked as he felt, but through his weariness he could feel one shining fact: Parnon had won the final debate. With the election in one week, he couldn't have hoped for anything more.

* * *

No one could sit still on election day, let alone work. There was an anxious edge to everyone's interactions with each other—Leto even snapped at Sitka—while they waited for the voting plazas to close. When the end of the working day came around, the Complex stayed lit up and noisy, as senators and their staffs awaited the results of the election for themselves or their colleagues. Everyone in the building was invested in some race or another. Rayik brought dinner up from the canteen for everyone, though at first no one ate much of anything. Finally, though, most of them wandered towards the tray, piled high with by-then lukewarm food. Rayik and Bethyun got drawn into a loud discussion about journalistic ethics while Sitka, Parnon, and Weyoun discussed the now-confirmed finding that Pegrill Exarchate's dilithium reserves—the most extensive deposits on the planet—would be gone in a little over a decade.

"Quiet," Leto suddenly yelled, waving an arm without looking at any of them. Weyoun, Parnon, and the rest of the staff looked in her direction and saw what had captured her attention—early election returns were scrolling across the telecast feed that they'd set up in the middle of the office. Immediately, they clustered around the screen.

"Gelnon Eron already got more of the vote than we thought he would," Rayik said worriedly.

Weyoun waved a hand dismissively. "His home district always reports in first."

Leto's hands were planted on her hips as she stared at the screen. "But he's probably siphoning off our voters."

"Let's not spend time worrying about it when only four percent of districts are reporting," Parnon said, one hand on his chin.

That quieted everyone for awhile, though it wasn't long before conversation started up again. Rayik, in particular, had a tendency towards nervous chatter that he couldn't rein in for very long. Leto kept her attention on the telecast feed with single-minded focus, and Weyoun couldn't stop himself from keeping almost as close an eye on it.

As districts reported in and the vote tally inched higher, silence fell on the office again. Even Rayik stopped talking. Parnon's eyebrows stayed drawn together, Leto kept her arms tightly crossed over her chest, all but glaring at the telecast feed, and Weyoun had to stop himself several times from nervously clenching and unclenching his fist. They wouldn't know the break-down of the votes until after every one had been counted, and the wait had never been so torturous, maybe for any of them.

Then, suddenly, the feed went blank, and the six of them collectively held their breaths until information blipped back onto the screen.

For a moment, none of them said a word. Then, Leto broke the silence, crowing, "One hundred percent of districts reporting! Forty-nine percent of the vote—that's a plurality!" She whirled and flung her arms around Weyoun, kissing him loudly on the cheek, and then did the same to Parnon, who laughed with relief.

Rayik opened a bottle of wine and slopped it into enough plastic cups for all of them. Weyoun downed his in one swallow, as did most of his co-workers. When their cups had all been refilled, Parnon raised his and said, "Thank you, all of you, for your work these past years, and the past few months especially. I think you know I couldn't have possibly done this without you, but I'll say it anyway."

They drank to that, and then the staff broke into chattering groups. For a moment, Weyoun and Parnon stood separately from everyone else. Parnon glanced at him, then remarked, clapping him on the shoulder, "I suppose I'll have to give you a raise."

Weyoun looked at him, then grinned. "I suppose you will," he said, then offered his hand to Parnon, a wide smile still on his face. Parnon accepted his hand and matched his grin. The raise wasn't important. Only one thing mattered: they had won.


	6. Chapter 5

Author's note: Just wanted to say thank you to those who have taken the time to review! Thank you to anyone else who's reading. I hope you're enjoying it so far!

* * *

5

**60,055 (Kurillian Calendar)**

In the end, Hellad Metro Center went up anyway. Even the footprints of a Founder couldn't stop it, not once Soltoi found experts who attested up and down that the footprints that Eris had uncovered were obviously modern forgeries. The argument may have convinced the Senate voting body, but not the general public, and the outcry against destroying this sacred relic was so great that Yelar Industries was forced to make concessions, as the shadow of the Clone Protests loomed large. The footprints would be covered with a small shrine, which ultimately would cower in the gloom cast by the massive frame of the shopping center.

Rather than be forced out prematurely, Eris redoubled the excavation efforts, working long hours every day until she'd completed as much as she could. Weyoun never knew if he'd wake up late at night to find her crawling into bed with him or if she'd sleep at her own flat; once or twice he got up in the morning only to see her sprawled on the couch. He hated to wake her in those cases but knew she'd never forgive him if he didn't. It was the only time they really saw each other, and if he had to sacrifice sleep to have a few moments with her, he did. Parnon was understanding when he was bleary-eyed and slow at work; far more understanding than he should have been, but when Weyoun pointed that out to him, he only laughed and said, "Again, Weyoun, that's why you came to work for me, isn't it?"

To deny that it was difficult would have been untrue, and in his unworthier moments he looked forward to the deadline for all work to be done and the excavation team to be forced out. Sometimes he worried that Eris and her team wouldn't leave the site and that Yelar Industries would call the police in.

One night towards the end of Firstmonth, he received a curt interface call from her at work. The anger in her voice was an immediate tip-off that something had happened at Hellad, and she said, "I'll be at home early tonight. Yelar forced us out this afternoon for _surveying_."

"Disgusting," Weyoun said, already mentally calculating how much time he needed to finish the day's work. "Can't they wait until they take control of the site back?"

Her furious hiss of air was enough to tell him that she'd already had that argument with whatever unlucky surveyor had showed up at Hellad that afternoon—and lost. "I'm making dinner. Come over," she said curtly, and then cut the connection. Weyoun wasn't offended; it was clear she wasn't angry at him.

But she _was _angry. When he got to her flat, his ID disc allowing him access, her briefcase was laying at a crazy angle where she'd obviously thrown it to the ground, and there was a padd sitting on the table with a furious, half-composed message to the Permits Office in the Complex. Weyoun hoped the fact that it was only half-finished meant that she'd channeled her anger into something more constructive—the Permits Office had been in Soltoi's pocket for years and writing to them would do nothing, except perhaps give Soltoi the satisfaction of knowing that she'd rattled Eris.

"Oh, haven't I deleted that yet?" Eris said suddenly, appearing in the doorway to her bedroom. He glanced up quickly, embarrassed that she'd caught him reading it, but she didn't seem to care. There was a pair of folded trousers in her hands, which she hastily dropped. Weyoun's eyes followed their trajectory and noted an open bag sitting against the wall. It appeared to be half-packed already.

The direction of his gaze didn't escape her notice, and she sighed. "I'm going to Dala," she said, with the air of someone who had spent hours thinking of the best way to break the news, and in the end come up with nothing but the blunt truth.

He glanced towards the bag again, unsure of exactly how to act or feel. Dala was a city on the western coast, several thousand kilometers away. Finally, he just said, "I thought you might." This was true—she'd mentioned a site there that she had interest in working at. If it didn't quite express the scope of what she was saying, well, maybe his diplomacy needed some work.

Her gaze remained focused on him, unblinking. "My grant came through from the university there. Remember, the one I applied for a few months ago? As a contingency plan?"

"I remember."

Tilting her head at him as though searching for more of a reaction, Eris added, "I'll be there for the rest of the dry season. I have a first-priority shuttle ticket pending the cessation of work at Hellad."

"First-priority?" Weyoun asked, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms across his chest. "They must really want you there."

"They do. Hellad has impressed a lot of people."

"Those that weren't already impressed, you mean." Finally, he gave her a wide smile, knowing that it was the right thing to do and genuinely happy that she was well-respected enough to be able to secure a new excavation on such short notice. "That's wonderful, Eris. I'm pleased for you."

She didn't answer, instead just eyeing him as though she was expecting him to do something, and he wasn't fulfilling her expectations. "You don't seem unhappy about this," she finally said, sounding puzzled.

Chuckling, he replied, "Did you want me to be? I thought you'd be pleased that I'm secure enough in this relationship to let you go across the continent for an entire season without argument." Still, as he said it, a pang went through him. He well remembered how miserable he'd been when'd they'd broken up—and that had been a mere month, not the four and a half that remained of the dry season.

Eris looked relieved. "I am. And you _should _be secure."

"Though I'm not happy about the prospect of not seeing you for four months, if that helps," he added.

Coming closer to him and taking one of his hands, she said, "I'm not happy about it either. But this is what I do. I can't stomach giving up an entire excavation season."

"I know," he said. "You don't have to explain yourself."

Relief passed over her features again. "Thank you," she said.

"For what?" he asked, amused.

Instead of answering, she put her arms around him. "I'm already looking forward to coming back," she said, low and close to his ear.

He wrapped his arms around her, feeling simultaneously as though he was trying to memorize the sensation of holding her against him, and that _that _feeling was maudlin in the extreme. Four months was a long time but he had no doubt that at the end of it she'd come back to him, and he supposed that was more than many people had. After a moment, he leaned back and put his hands on her upper arms. "When do you think you'll be leaving?"

Eris's expression darkened, but then she made a clear effort to brighten as she reached up and laid her hands on his. "In about a week, if I had to guess."

There didn't seem to be any point in asking her if that was enough to time to finish at Hellad—the answer would be no. Even if she had another complete season there, it still wouldn't be enough time for her. He could only hope that she wouldn't feel the same way about Dala and that another site in or near Tira City would capture her imagination.

"Will you tell me about Dala?" he asked. "You're well acquainted with my ignorance on all subjects historical."

She gave him a quick kiss and then stepped away, smiling swiftly, and going to the kitchen. "Over dinner."

* * *

One week later, Eris allowed herself to be interviewed for the daily telecast on her team's last day of excavation. Weyoun watched it from his office, his arms crossed over his chest pensively, as she mustered every shred of her dignity reiterating the importance of the site not just to Tira City's history, but for all of Kurill's. Construction equipment rolled onto the site behind her but she never flinched.

Her first-priority ticket got her onto a shuttle the next morning. The two of them spent that night together, sleeping only when their desperate passion exhausted itself—a passion driven by their imminent separation and by the flare of anger still burning in Eris about the loss of Hellad. And then, the next morning she was gone, with only her bag slung over her shoulder and a promise that she'd message him as often as she could.

Weyoun had a full schedule at work to keep him busy. The spaceflight legislation was going ahead with debate within the next month and Parnon was determined to make good on many of his campaign promises, which meant plenty of late night drafting of legislation of everything from tax reforms to permit registration to security protocols. With another term, the possibilities seemed endless. Parnon, certainly, treated them that way.

He found, now that he'd had about a year to settle into this new job, and having won an election, that he was happy he'd come to work for Parnon. Not just because of Eris, but because for the first time in his life he really _liked _all the people he worked with, and his employer. Of course, beggars couldn't be choosers, and when it came to politics, everyone was a beggar. He _could _work with people he didn't like; people he loathed, but it was much more pleasant when everyone got along.

Eris's infrequent messages reiterated what he could have guessed: she was busy, she was happy in Dala, and she missed him. Sometimes he woke up at night expecting her to be there; when he put a hand out to pull her closer and met nothing but the empty bed he felt colder, and all he could do was try to imagine what she was doing in that moment. The time without her was harder than he liked to admit. He was—there was no other word for it—lovesick. His younger self would have scoffed at him now, but then his younger self hadn't known Eris.

It took them three weeks to arrange a time to speak via video interface, and when the appointed time arrived and the interface trilled, Weyoun went right to it, answering the call immediately. The routing prefix sent a thrill of recognition through him. There was something about seeing the visual confirmation of the call's origin before Eris's face that added to the anticipation thrumming through him.

After a second of load-time, the video displayed, and he saw Eris's face for the first time in three weeks. Her skin was slightly less pallid and dark purple shadows arced out from beneath her eyes, but she was smiling and looked content. Behind her, he could see a window, the light fading outside from purple to black as night fell in Dala. It was five time zones away, which was part of the reason it had taken them three weeks to set up a time to talk—by the time she was done working for the day, it was late in Tira City. Finally he'd sent her the message that he didn't care, he just wanted to see her.

Their first couple sentences were lost in the jumble of both of them trying to speak at the same time, and finally Eris laughed and held out her hands, palms facing out. "You first," she said.

A bizarre urge to reach out and touch the screen took hold of him, but he didn't actually do it, aware of how strange it would look, not to mention how pointless it was. "How are you?" he asked instead.

"Fine. Busy." She paused, her eyes earnest as she stared at the screen. A network of tiny cameras placed around the borders of interface screens captured the image of whatever was in their field and used facial recognition to construct a final image for transmission, which gave the illusion of actually speaking directly to someone. It was effective technology, but Weyoun found it slightly hollow at the moment. It felt more as though she was looking _through _him than at him.

The interface screen froze, pixellated, and Weyoun checked the signal. Odd. Something was interfering, and he'd never seen that happen during the dry season. Kurill's communications centers were the most advanced technology they had. They had to be impressive, to handle any amount of traffic during the high interference of the monsoon. Hail could take entire sub-stations out with barely a blip in signal strength.

Her voice was garbled for a second before the signal returned to normal. "Can you hear me?" she asked.

"Yes," he said. "Are you seeing that interference, too?"

There was a harsh burst of static and her face pixellated again, this time enough to be almost unrecognizable. Weyoun narrowed his eyes and reached around the back of the interface terminal to check the wires running to the back of it—all firmly in place.

"—must be something wrong with—nection," her voice said, though the visual had degenerated into jagged artifacts.

He waited a moment to see if it would get any better. It didn't, and with the sound only coming through in static-filled bursts, he said, "Maybe we should try this tomorrow," though he had no idea if she could hear him. With a heavy sigh, he ended the connection. This sort of thing was extremely uncommon—Kurill's communications grid was robust; not something that was prone to faulty connections or interference from either exterior or internal sources. Still, it must have been a bad line somewhere, most likely on her end. Tira City was never unconnected, ever. It was unthinkable.

Within a few minutes, a message came through from her full of profuse apologies—not that there was anything she could have done—and with the offer to try again the following evening, if he wasn't too tired. He sent back a reply that he'd see her then. Whatever was wrong with the connection in Dala would no doubt be fixed by then.

* * *

They did talk the following night, and on many nights after that, and whatever deeply-buried worries that Weyoun had about her preferring Dala over Tira City, or one of the other anthropologists on the site to him, evaporated before he'd even quite acknowledged their existence. He was able to content himself with this arrangement pretty well, helped, obviously, by the fact that he knew he'd be seeing her again soon.

As the weeks went on, Parnon tasked Weyoun more and more with readying the manned spaceflight legislation, until finally the day arrived that a preliminary draft went before the Council for its first test. Weyoun sat in on the session at Parnon's side, answering questions as they were addressed to him. Soltoi grilled them both and had one of Dessa Exarchate's senators on her side, but a sufficient portion of the Council was intrigued enough to let it go to a vote, scheduled for the following week. The way Parnon played up Pegrill Exarchate's dwindling dilithium deposits and Soura's plentiful ones probably didn't hurt.

On the day of the vote itself, aides weren't allowed onto the floor of the Council chamber, and so any of them interested in the vote gathered just inside the runners' door. Weyoun, of course, was there, along with quite a few of his colleagues. He watched the senators' faces for any clues as to their votes while most of the Council's three hundred and twelve members cast them.

Once silence fell in the chamber and the senators were no longer tapping at their padds, the Adjudicator took a moment to compile the data on her interface. "All votes have been received," the Adjudicator intoned, staring around the chamber for a moment before announcing, "Motion to proceed with legislative debate carried."

The Adjudicator's round gavel struck the small, resonant gong on the podium, and from the side of the Council chamber, Weyoun exhaled a sigh of relief that he hadn't known he was holding. The pronouncement put Parnon's manned spaceflight legislation one step closer to being a reality. It had one final hurdle of legislative debate to clear before going to an up or down vote, at which point, if it passed, a committee would be formed to handle its implementation. Even if that happened within the next few months, it would still be years before any Vorta would be orbiting Kurill, but it was an important victory, and one that Weyoun savored.

A few of the other aides around him murmured their congratulations to him before slipping out the runners' door. Loura Thelesoi, still Soltoi's senior aide after her failed campaign against Parnon, gave him a condescending look. "I can't believe you're wasting your time with this," she said with a derisive sniff.

He tucked his padd under his arm and gave her a hard, bright smile. "I'll remember you said that when astronomers start transmitting their data back from orbit."

Thelesoi glared but didn't say another word, following the other aides out the door. Weyoun wrinkled his nose slightly in contempt after her, then turned away, hooding his eyes. For a moment longer, he remained at the side of the chamber, staring up at the tiered seats and imagining what it would be like to be the one casting the votes. He was twenty-eight years old, with his prospects stretching out in front of him, just waiting for him to seize hold of them.

With a small, private smile, he turned and left the Council chamber, returning to Parnon's offices, where he found Deimos waiting. His friend broke off his conversation with Leto and asked, "Weyoun, are you and Parnon busy at the moment?"

"I'm not at the minute, but Parnon isn't even back from session yet. Why?"

Leaning against Leto's desk, Deimos said, "I heard about the vote—that's good, well done." He paused long enough for Weyoun to nod in acknowledgement, then went on, "I want to talk to both of you about final drafting."

"You want credited input?" Weyoun asked, raising his eyebrows.

"No. I just want to make sure it passes. And," he held up a finger, "I want Parnon to get me onto the committee as the science lobby's representative."

"I doubt he'll object, though I can't speak to that for certain." Weyoun stared thoughtfully at his friend for a moment, then said, "You think it's going to pass."

Nodding, Deimos replied, "Yes, I do. And not just because I think it's a good piece of legislation, and something that we should have done a long time ago—because I'm doing everything in my power to make sure it does."

"And what do you get out of that, Deimos, besides a seat on the implementing committee?" Leto spoke up.

Deimos glanced at her. "I'm going to be on the first orbital, Founders help me."

At that, Leto shuddered. "You can have it. I'd never want to go into space."

"Never?" Weyoun asked her, surprised. "You're not the slightest bit curious?"

"Would _you _go up there?" she countered.

Looking thoughtfully towards the window and the periwinkle sky arcing over Tira, Weyoun replied, "I think I might, given the right circumstances."

Chuckling, Deimos said, "Well, maybe you'll live long enough to see those circumstances. I have a feeling we won't be letting non-specialists into the orbitals for quite some time."

"That's all right," Weyoun replied, then raised an eyebrow. "I'm not exactly eager to get on any first-generation orbitals."

"Content to leave that sort of death-defying adventurism to people like me, eh?" Deimos asked.

Mildly, Weyoun replied, "That's one way of putting it."

A faraway look settled on Deimos's face. "What I really want is to be the first Vorta to leave Kurillian orbit. We've got unmanned probe technology that's never been implemented, and if we could transfer that to manned vehicles we could be exploring the whole solar system."

With another shudder, Leto said, "It sounds awful. I'm glad people like you exist, Deimos, so the rest of us don't have to do it."

Deimos laughed, and the three of them chatted until Parnon came in and agreed to speak with Deimos. Over the next several hours, the three of them overhauled the spaceflight legislation to give it the best chance to passing. Deimos brought his technical expertise to bear and left with a promise from Parnon that he'd see to the seat on the implementation committee. As the legislation's main author, he had the right to name one lobbyist to the panel, and even if Deimos hadn't asked for it, Weyoun was certain Parnon would have chosen him. The other man had been indispensable in the drafting of the legislation; it was no more than he deserved. And he was the best man for the job, besides.

True to Deimos's prediction, in the next few months, the legislation passed debate, and then proceeded to pass the Council's vote. The implementation committee was put in place, consisting of seven senators and one representative from the science lobby—Deimos. The eight of them would work over the next several years to make manned spaceflight a reality.

* * *

Still, the dry season dragged as it approached its end. There came a point when Weyoun realized he was physically tired of eating alone, living alone, waking up in his bed alone. It wasn't just that he missed Eris. Of course he _did_; his longing for her was like a presence, it was so substantial, but this was more. This was the realization that he had no urge to go back to being single. It was the realization that he didn't want Eris to leave his life. Ever. Maybe he'd had some inkling of this back when he'd chosen between Soltoi and her, but then the relationship had been too new to articulate what he'd been feeling. Even if he had, it wouldn't have been something to act on. They were both middle caste and at the very least, Vorta of the middle caste waited a full year before marrying.

He drew a deep breath the first time that the word crossed his mind in a serious way, when he knew that he'd ask her and pray to the Founders that she'd agree. Somehow it didn't seem like the major decision that he'd always expected it to be. It was just…something he had to do. And there was no point in waiting that he could see; she'd be returning to Tira City in a month and the thing to do, it seemed, was to ask her the day she arrived home.

On the night he made the decision, he found himself staring out over Tira City. Headlights flared from the streets below, from the skimmers and mopeds still traversing the Tir and Hellad districts, while the lights mounted on buildings and poles cast a steadier, bluer glow over the city. The river was a black strip dividing the two city center districts, the water reflecting the blue lights where it eddied in the wakes of small craft or underwater hazards. Further along the river's banks were two of the gutter districts, their light orange and oily. Weyoun crossed his arms over his chest, looking away from the slums and raising his eyes to the exurbs, visible beyond the edges of the more densely populated city. His living room window faced towards the west and the bluffs outside the city where the Athoun District, one of Tira City's most affluent exurbs, lay. It was a place he could imagine living, were he to become a senator someday—with Eris. If, of course, she would have him.

* * *

"Have you seen any of the bizarre reports coming out of the OCSS?" Deimos asked without preamble as he sat down across from Weyoun in the canteen's outdoor patio. It was the day before Eris's scheduled return; the end of the dry season, and every table was taken as Capitol employees made the most of the last few days of it. Weyoun had already had to glare imperiously at several runners who had attempted to filch the second chair at the table.

"That's your job, isn't it?" Weyoun asked. He'd never heard a senator call it the 'OCSS'—it was the orbital communications satellite station; but then, the science lobby was fond of acronyms.

Deimos sighed. "Where would any of you politicians be without people like me?"

Raising his eyebrows, Weyoun said, "Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you _were _a politician. Or have you gone back to astronomy?"

"I'm a lobbyist. There's an important distinction." Deimos looked amused. "And no. Though maybe I should. A couple of my friends over at Ground Control have been sending me some of this data—and trust me, Weyoun, I'd show it to you if you had _any _hope of understanding it—" He paused to check Weyoun's reaction, which was bland, as he was well used to this sort of thing after years of friendship with Deimos, "—and it's…well frankly it's impossible."

Underneath his typical gibing tone, there was an undercurrent of something else, an emotion that Weyoun had rarely heard in Deimos's voice. It was confusion—confusion tinged with anxiety. "What's so impossible about it?" Weyoun prompted.

Deimos opened his mouth, then closed it, furrowed his brow, and glanced around. There was something of the absurd in it, like playing spy in the holo-arcade that the two of them had frequented as university students. Finally, he leaned across the table and said in a low tone, "They're detecting something. Several large somethings. In orbit of Kurill. But the odd thing is—there's nothing there."

Weyoun furrowed his brow. "What do you mean, 'there's nothing there'? They're detecting something they can't see?"

"Exactly." Deimos still looked troubled. "It doesn't make sense." He opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, then began again, in a tone that would have been pedantic if that odd anxiety hadn't been running under it, "Sometimes if a chunk of rock passes between the moons, it can create this sort of false reflection—our instruments get the wrong readings, in other words, from the sensor data bouncing around off all the orbital bodies out there—but Ground Control's convinced that that's not what's happening here. And having looked at the data, I agree." His eyes flicked around the room again. "Whatever they're picking up out there, I don't think it's natural."

Weyoun abruptly leaned back, trying hard not to smile. "Aliens, Deimos? Really?"

"Keep your voice down," Deimos said in a quiet, very serious tone; a tone so serious that it wiped the nascent smile from Weyoun's face. "Space is a big place. It's not so far-fetched. The Founders visited, didn't they?"

"And maybe the Founders are the only ones out there," Weyoun replied.

Deimos's brow twitched. "Maybe it's the Founders out there right now," he said, quietly and earnestly. The way he said it made Weyoun glance towards the sky. He immediately felt foolish. Not only because there wasn't anything to see—of course there wasn't, just the bright periwinkle wash of a dry season sky—but because there was something mildly alarming in what Deimos was saying. It was one thing to pray for the Founders' return, but it was quite another to contemplate that return as fact.

Weyoun grinned, though he could feel the nervous tension in it. "Deimos, the readings are probably wrong. Isn't that more likely than—than anything else?"

His friend was silent for a long time, and in the end, he didn't answer, instead asking slowly, "Have you ever thought what it would be like for the Founders to return during our lifetimes?"

The truthful answer was 'no'. The scriptures said that when the Founders returned, they would make the Vorta into powerful beings and put them at the head of an empire. It had been a justification for plenty of ancient wars (and there had been many, with the entire population confined to one continent, until certain clans had turned to diplomacy to prevent the Vorta from ripping their civilization apart), as this or that clan leader had claimed a vision, or sometimes even a visitation, from the Founders. Now there were no empires, just a single planetary government.

"Not really," he finally answered. "The chances of it happening seem somewhat…remote."

"Maybe the Founders are guiding us towards spaceflight for a reason."

"Maybe," Weyoun said doubtfully.

The troubled look flickered over Deimos's face again. "I just wonder…if it _is _them in orbit of Kurill right now…why are they hiding?"

Weyoun didn't answer, having no idea how to respond to this flight of sheer fantasy, and after a moment, Deimos shook his head as though trying to physically rid it of his thoughts. "Never mind all of that, though," he said with a smile. "How's Eris? She's coming back tomorrow, isn't she?"

"She is," Weyoun said, grateful for the change of subject. The monsoon was on the verge of beginning—ominous dark clouds clotted the horizon in the east every morning but never made their advance, and the sun continued to beat down. If Eris didn't arrive via shuttle prior to the first onslaught of pounding rain and hail, then she would need to take a train cross-country; one of the hulking freighters that could stand up to the monsoon's abuse. If that happened, it would be at least a week more before he saw her—probably longer, as seats on the first several trains to leave at the onset of the monsoon were hard to come by. Part of the price of traversing the monsoon was doing so slowly. "She's planning to, at least."

"Morning shuttle?"

"Yes, luckily." If the monsoon _did _pick tomorrow to start, at least the roiling black thunderheads didn't advance until mid-afternoon or later. Weyoun remembered a year when the rain had begun so late at night that everyone had been convinced it wouldn't start that day at all. Unconsciously, he glanced east, though of course the city center skyscrapers blocked the view from this angle. Still staring into the distance, he said determinedly. "I'm going to ask her to marry me."

"Are you really?" Deimos grinned, then reached across the table to clap Weyoun on the shoulder. "Well, if she's stayed with you this long, I suppose she'll probably say yes."

"I'm encouraged that you think so."

Deimos leaned back in his chair. "In all seriousness, though, let me be the first to offer my premature congratulations."

"Thank you."

"Are you nervous?"

Weyoun shrugged. "Not really. I suppose I should be—or will be."

"In other words," Deimos said, "you think she's going to say yes, too."

"Well." Smiling slightly, Weyoun asked, "Over-confident?"

"I've never known you not to be," Deimos replied cheerfully. A group of runners carrying full trays came out onto the terrace, eyeing their table, and Deimos threw his napkin on his empty plate. "Well, duty calls. We're beginning the arduous task of drawing up schematics for the manned orbitals today."

"I thought you were supposed to have started that a week ago," Weyoun remarked.

"Oh, you're a fine one to talk about bureaucratic delays," Deimos snorted.

Weyoun grinned in tacit acknowledgement. "When you've got something, Parnon's interested in seeing it," he said, getting to his feet.

Deimos did the same, nodding. "I appreciate his scientific curiosity. Tell him he'll be one of the first to see what we come up with. And Weyoun," he added, before they parted ways, "not that I think you need it, but good luck tomorrow with Eris." He hesitated, then said a bit stiffly, "I'm happy for both of you. She's a lucky woman."

This show of un-ironic affection both touched and surprised Weyoun, and to mask that, he said, "I'm a lucky man."

"That goes without saying," Deimos said, sounding more comfortable. He clapped Weyoun on the shoulder again and disappeared back into the Complex.

Weyoun stood outside a moment longer, staring up into the hard, cloudless sky, sensing the black thunderheads on the obscured eastern horizon. Tomorrow, if the Founders willed it, he'd know if the woman he loved would consent to be his wife. It seemed like a very long wait.

* * *

Weyoun took the train to the shuttleport the next day, the scheduled arrival time of Eris's shuttle into Tira City firmly in his mind, and when he reached the gate, nervousness suddenly swept through him. It felt oddly like he was meeting her again for the first time, though he suspected that neither of them could have possibly changed so much in the preceding four months to justify such a feeling. The fact that her shuttle was late, which he found out once he'd gotten there, only increased his anxiety. The minutes ticked by and all he could do was watch the massing of the black monsoon clouds to the east. The light seemed brighter and thicker than normal as it streamed down; a final flare of sun before the thunderheads rolled in. Meteorologists up and down the continent predicted that it would happen today and something about that light and the way the clouds drew it in made Weyoun believe them.

That shuttle couldn't land fast enough.

There was a sudden hiss of pneumatic machinery and the shuttle walkway uncurled outwards to meet—thank the Founders—the morning shuttle from Dala. Its wings folded upwards against its body as it swung into position, and after a moment the walkway hooked into the door mechanism. Weyoun crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall, a sigh of…something, relief or satisfaction, or possibly apprehension, escaping him.

Another few minutes passed, and with docking procedures complete, the shuttle door opened and Vorta began exiting. They were too far away for Weyoun to see their faces clearly, but he recognized Eris by her stride, and he straightened, squaring his shoulders, before pushing off from the wall and moving forward to greet her.

In a minute, Eris appeared in the gate doorway, and when she saw him, her eyebrows shot up in happy surprise. "You came to _meet _me," she said, smiling and shifting the shoulder strap of her bag. "How unlike you."

"Of course I did," he replied, taking one of her hands in both of his. "You can't seriously have thought I wouldn't after you've been gone for four months."

She gave him her other hand and he resisted the urge to pull her into an embrace in the middle of the shuttleport, with other Vorta streaming around them as they disembarked. "Well, after four months, what would another few hours have been?" she asked archly, though the look in her eyes told him that those few hours would have felt like months to her, too.

They looked into each other's eyes for a moment, and then Weyoun held out an arm. "Can I carry your bag for you?"

"I can manage," she replied. "Just please tell me you're going to bring me back to your flat."

He laughed as they started walking towards the shuttleport train platform. "I was hoping you'd say that. Do you want to go out to dinner, at least?"

"If you want. I'd be just as happy eating carry-out. Or leftovers. It doesn't matter." She looked at him, a vehemence in her eyes that the interface video just hadn't captured through those months apart. "I've really missed you."

Weyoun's grin refused to leave his face, and he brushed a hand lightly across her elbow, desperate to touch her after so long. "The feeling's mutual." Maybe they _were _better off eating in—if they went out, he wasn't sure he'd be able to stop himself from being in physical contact with her, and that was simply bad form. Of course, that wreaked havoc with his plans for the night. He'd had grand designs of romancing her; sweeping her off her feet and then, at the end of the evening, proposing marriage to her. At the very least, she'd be less likely to say no by the end of all that.

As they waited for the train, he bombarded her with questions about the excavation; she eventually pulled out a padd and showed him photos of some of the objects she and her team had uncovered. When the hiss of the approaching train reached their ears, she stored it away again in her bag, assuring him with a mischievous glint in her eye that he'd see plenty more of it in the coming months.

The train was full, but the two of them were able to find seats together near the back of it. She pushed her bag under her seat and leaned back, looking at him with an irrepressible smile of her own. The backs of their hands rested against each other's as the doors slid shut and the train began moving away from the station and towards Tira City. The shuttleport was about ten kilometers from the city center and on its own metro line, which traversed the flat Tiran plain.

As the train sped along, she asked him what had been happening in the capital since she'd been gone, but when he opened his mouth to respond, the plain around them suddenly and dramatically went dark, as though a curtain had been dropped around the sun. A hush fell on the train's passengers as every head turned to face the windows. The black thunderheads had finally covered the sky, blotting out the sun on their march across the continent. They flickered with lightning and in the distance, near the shuttleport, a bolt spidered from the sky to the ground. Weyoun's hearing was just sensitive enough to pick up the deep rumble of thunder that rolled across the plain.

Then, the sky opened up with the monsoon's first deluge, and everything outside was obscured as water ran in waves over the metro's duraplastic tunnel. There was an almost audible sound of release from the present Vorta—not relief, precisely, as no one exactly _longed _for the monsoon, but there was a certain satisfaction to the end of the waiting.

Gradually, conversation began to pick back up in the train car, and Eris remarked, "Good thing I made it back when I did. I almost didn't get on that shuttle, but someone cancelled at the last second and I got their seat."

He looked at her, saying nothing. The wash of water behind her, outside the train, lent this moment a dynamism that it hadn't had five minutes ago, and he had a sense that he could do anything in that moment and it would be the right thing—but that likewise, there was only one thing that he _should _do. Somehow the knowledge that he almost hadn't gotten her back today made him feel as though waiting to ask her to marry him was pointless; that everything he'd had planned was superfluous. Only two things mattered: the fact of his feelings for her, and the fact of hers for him.

"Eris." He took her hand and looked into her eyes, searching them for any sign that he shouldn't do what he was about to and finding none. He was almost thirty years old; his career was stable and promising. He felt certain—as certain as anyone ever could be about these things—that there would never be another woman in his life like Eris Arethoi and he'd be a fool not to make her a permanent part of it.

This wasn't the way he'd planned on asking her this question—romantic lighting had definitely played a role in that vision, as opposed to the harsh overhead lights of the metro—but suddenly the fact that they were surrounded by other people didn't matter. He'd rarely felt more alone with her, as though the entire world consisted only of them, squeezed between the window and the aisle of a train hurtling through the monsoon.

She looked surprised, and a little mystified, by his tone and the way he was holding her hand. "Yes?" she asked, her brow crinkling slightly.

And then words—what he was good at; his ability to twist them to any meaning and use them to get what he wanted being the one quality that had propelled him from gutter-scum to ascendant political aide—_words _failed him. Her eyes held his; that perfect, clear violet gaze of hers pinning him and making his heart hammer, and all he could do was draw in a breath and ask, "Would you marry me?"

Her eyes widened and she drew in a tiny breath, but for a moment she didn't say anything. Finally, she asked quietly, "No grandiloquence for the occasion?"

He didn't blink. For that matter, he barely breathed. It was impossible to tell what she was thinking. "I had something, but I've forgotten every word of it," he replied. Somehow, his other hand had moved to clasp hers, so now both of their hands were twined together.

"Oh." It was more of an exhalation than anything. "Weyoun—"

It occurred to him that if she said 'no', then he might feel the presence of every other Vorta on that train most acutely.

Then, without another word, she kissed him hard, her hands gripping his tightly. Every pent-up bit of longing that they'd had for each other in the past four months leeched into that kiss; every time in the past four months that he'd needed and wanted her; every time in the past four months that he'd known he wanted her to be his wife, it was there, in the press of their lips and their palms, the only two points of contact between them.

Finally, her lips brushing his as she spoke, she murmured, "I was beginning to think that I'd have to wait for you to become a senator before you asked."

"Is that a yes?" he murmured back.

She bit her lip to hold back a smile. "Don't be stupid."

Weyoun reached a hand up and gently touched her face. Raising an eyebrow, he said, "I pride myself on the fact that I rarely am."

Her attempt to repress her smile failed and with a wordless noise, she met him in another fervent kiss.

Their sense of place was finally reinstated when someone nearby cleared her throat, and the two of them broke apart to see an older woman staring at them. Everyone else's gazes were conspicuously averted, but the woman just looked amused. "Congratulations," she said dryly, "but it might be better for the two of you to confine your celebration to your home?"

Eris's eyes were bright as she glanced at Weyoun, then back to the woman. Bowing her head, partly to hide the grin on her face, she said, "Of course."

"Our apologies, Doyenne," Weyoun added, certain that he'd never uttered a more perfunctory apology or honorific in his life. She looked like she knew it, but the amusement was still on her face as she turned away. Weyoun and Eris looked at each other and settled back in their seats for the remainder of the ride to Tira City, their hands clasped together tightly.


	7. Chapter 6

Author's note: A little behind schedule with my posting here, but the good news is you'll get chapter 7 early! And a rating warning-the end of this chapter probably pushes the PG-13 boundary into R for sex. I don't _think_ it's terribly graphic, and I struggled with what to rate this fic because of this one scene. So I'm keeping the PG-13 rating, but if reading about sex isn't your thing, just be aware that it's at the end of this chapter.

* * *

6

**60,056-60,059 (Kurillian Calendar)**

They married once the rain and hail stopped pounding the continent. Eris's parents took a shuttle from Pegrill to attend the small ceremony, at which they, and the three witnesses to the marriage, were the only attendees. Weyoun and Eris wore the traditional matrimonial blue robes and were wed under the auspices of the Founders in the Tir District temple, surrounded by the temple's only illumination of flickering candlelight. Afterwards they went out to dinner with Eris's parents, their knees touching under the table as they ate. At home—the new flat that they'd been getting ready for the past several months—Eris flipped on the lights, looked at Weyoun, and promptly turned them off again. The bed, luckily, was unpacked, set up, and free of boxes, and their robes, though full of formal lacing and pins, came off easily enough.

The next two years were good; maybe the best of Weyoun's life. He and Eris had a happy marriage, not without its difficulties, of course, but waking up every morning and seeing her in bed beside him, and knowing that she'd always be there, filled him with endless surprise that such a simple thing could be so fulfilling.

Both of them excelled in their careers. Eris was on tenure-track and would achieve it before she was forty, a rare honor at Tira University. Meanwhile, Weyoun knew that the time was approaching that he would want to make the leap from political aide to politician, and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he wanted to be one of Tira Exarchate's senators. It was common for aides to move out of the exarchate they'd been employed in when they finally ran for office—he wasn't going to do that. All of his ties were to Tira, and even the ones he'd tried to divest himself of felt like they mattered in this case. Besides, Tira was the most powerful of the exarchates; not only was the capital city there, but it was resource rich and more highly populated. Even as a newly-elected junior senator in Tira Exarchate, he'd have more clout than many senior senators.

That gave him a choice of which seat to pursue. He'd never run against Foros; he owed the man too much and considered him too good of a friend to even entertain the idea. That left the seats belonging to Soltoi and Tira Exarchate's other junior senator, Nesenoi, a nonagenarian who had joined the Council later in her life. Nesenoi's term expired in two more years; Soltoi's in three, and even if the order had been reversed, he still thought he'd probably choose Nesenoi as an opponent.

Then, something happened to make up his mind definitively, something which he kept to himself until he was sure enough of the veracity of the rumors that it warranted a discussion. And the discussion itself couldn't be rushed into, so he kept things to himself until the moment felt right to bring them out into the open.

That moment suddenly occurred one night about halfway through the monsoon. An event honoring one of Eris's colleagues was being held at Tira University and propriety and etiquette made their attendance necessary. He couldn't have said what it was, exactly, that made it so imperative to raise this issue at that particular moment; all he knew was that as he got dressed, the urge to ask Eris felt too strong to let it go.

So, he announced, "I need your opinion on something."

"The brown jacket; it shows off your build," Eris said from the other room, where she'd disappeared to only moments before.

"No, that's not—" He stopped and glanced in the mirror, having already donned said jacket. "Does it?"

She peeked into the bedroom, her arms twisted behind her head as she tried to button the back of her dress. "Of course; it's a very flattering fit. But that wasn't what you needed my opinion on?" she added, raising an eyebrow from beneath the shadow of her raised elbow.

He gave her a look of fond exasperation and moved to her side, gently pulling her hands away from the buttons. "Rumors are flying that Nesenoi's going to be announcing her early retirement in the next few days—which means there will be an open election for her seat this cycle."

"Oh? Why is she retiring?"

"They say she wants to spend more time with her family."

"_Oh_," Eris replied delicately.

Weyoun laughed. "Though in this case, it's probably true. The woman's in her nineties. If I were her, I'd seize on my twilight years and spend them with my family, too." Finishing with the buttons, he planted a quick kiss on her neck just where the collar ended, then moved to face her.

She smiled slightly. "I'll remember you said that once you're a venerable, elderly senator."

"I'm sure you will," Weyoun replied. "And that's what I wanted to ask you. I want to run for her seat in the open election." He tilted his head at her, studying her for a reaction. "What do you think?"

Her expression was thoughtful. "Does it matter what I think?" she asked, not unkindly.

"Obviously."

After a moment of reflection, she reached forward and buttoned his jacket for him. "I have to admit, I'm a little surprised that you're trying for that seat."

Weyoun watched her, hearing more in her words than what she was saying. "You thought I'd run against Soltoi."

Glancing up at him, she replied, "I thought it was a distinct possibility. As long as she's in office, she's always going to be a threat to you."

With a shrug, he replied, "I've considered it. But I don't think I could win against her."

"If anyone could, it's you."

"Your faith in me is touching." When she rolled her eyes good-naturedly, he took her hand. "Anyway, this might be foolish, but it doesn't feel…right to run against her. It has the air of vendetta to it."

Raising her eyebrows, Eris remarked, "Now, _that _surprises me even more."

"Why?"

She smiled slightly. "Don't take this the wrong way, but when it comes to your career, you aren't the most…principled man."

A breath of laughter escaped him. "My dear, when it comes to your career, you aren't the most principled woman."

"Poaching one's colleagues' postgraduate students is standard procedure," she said dismissively. "But I suppose that makes us well suited, then," she added with a sly smile.

Putting a hand to her face briefly, he said, "Now, that I already knew." He held her gaze for a moment, then straightened his shoulders and grinned. "Anyway, in my case, it's never too late to develop principles, is it?"

"Not that I'm aware of." She kissed him softly. "And I'm glad I married a politician with some, even if they've been very slow in appearing."

"Technically I'm not a politician."

"Not yet." When Weyoun raised an eyebrow at Eris, she smiled at him and added, "You've always wanted this. How could I say no?"

Catching her hand in his, he said, surprise coloring his tone, "That's it? You're not concerned about how this is going to affect our lives? The toll it's going to take?"

"Do you want me to be?" Eris asked, and he was reminded of the night, several years ago, when she'd said she was going to be thousands of kilometers away for four and a half months and he'd been openly happy for her.

"No," he replied. "No, of course not. I just want to make sure you understand how invasive it will be in our lives, even after I'm elected."

With a laugh, she asked, "Are _you _sure about it?"

"The benefits to the job will be rather one-sided, I'm afraid. You'll mostly experience the inconveniences."

She took his other hand. "I know. And I know it's easy to say that I'm ready for it right now when I really have no idea what it entails. I suppose a politician's spouse is never _really _prepared for it. But I told you, I know you've always wanted this. I married you fully anticipating being a senator's wife."

For a moment, he just looked at her, her eye level several centimeters below his without her shoes on, the dark green of her dress bringing out the marble whiteness of her skin. "Have I told you recently that I love you?" he finally asked.

"Not since yesterday," she replied with a small, crooked smile. "By the way, you're rather sure of yourself, aren't you? 'Even after you're elected'?"

"I've been told before that I have a streak of over-confidence."

"Mm. One of the qualities I love most about you." She kissed him slowly, and he leaned his forehead against hers. "We should go. I'm depending on these people for tenure, after all—it wouldn't do to be late."

Taking a step back, he remarked, "You'd get tenure even if you never showed up at any of these events. You're quite the celebrity in academic circles."

"Your flattery is shameless."

"I've always had a talent for it."

With a laugh, she took his hand and said, "Let's go. You never know, you might even meet some potential donors for your campaign."

Squeezing her fingers, he replied, "Oh, I'm counting on it."

She arched an eyebrow at him, as though she knew that he'd wanted it to come off as a joke—but that she also knew that it wasn't. Academics had voted overwhelmingly for Foros in his last senate run. As his protégé, Weyoun was hoping for more than just their electoral support; he wanted their monetary support as well. And even if the election wasn't for five months, it was never too early to start sending out feelers for donors.

Nesenoi's announcement came within a few weeks and surprised no one by the time it was formally made. Weyoun had quietly asked Foros what his opinion on the matter was, and his employer was firmly in support of him trying for the seat. "Though," Foros had said with a smile, "I won't be happy to have to find another senior aide."

"I can get a list together for you of candidates," Weyoun had replied immediately—eager, as always, to be helpful. Foros had only laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.

Obviously, no one would be allowed to publicly declare their candidacies until three months before the election. Paperwork needed to be filed sooner, but that deadline hadn't arrived yet, either. Which was why, a few days after Nesenoi's announcement, the last thing he expected to hear, coming from his office door, was a voice saying, "I hear you're running for office."

Looking up from his padd, Weyoun found himself meeting the gaze of his one-time colleague in Soltoi's offices. "Kilana Yeroi," he said, leaning forward in his chair. "I can't imagine where you would have heard that, considering campaign season doesn't begin for another month."

She glanced over her shoulder, towards Rayik's desk. "What would a publicity staffer be without her sources?"

He snorted quietly. Rayik. What a surprise. However, he said, "You heard correctly."

She pursed her lips, smiling, and stepped through the door. Looking around the office—Weyoun could practically see her rein in the urge to remark upon its relative size (much smaller) compared to the one he'd had while he'd been on Soltoi's staff—she smoothed her shirt over her stomach and hips, accentuating her figure. His expression tightened fractionally. "Do you think you can win?" she asked.

He watched her, his eyes narrowed slightly. "I wouldn't be running if I didn't think I could win."

"Hm." Raising her eyebrows, she circled the desk. Weyoun clasped his hands on his desk and stared at them, a smile of mild exasperation on his face, waiting for her to finish her circuit. When she had, she perched on the desk in front of him, twisting her upper body towards him and crossing her arms over her chest. "No, I don't suppose you would be."

"Are you here for any particular reason, Kilana?" Weyoun asked.

Kilana reached out and picked up an arrowhead from his desk—a gift from Dala that Eris had brought back—and studied it for a moment before he plucked it out of her hands and replaced it. The action made Kilana smile. "You need staff," she said, "and I'm looking for a change of offices."

With a laugh, Weyoun leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs. "Oh?"

"You sound skeptical."

"We didn't exactly get along when we were both working for Soltoi."

"Not exactly," she agreed with an incline of her head.

Weyoun raised an eyebrow. "Then what is it that makes you think I'd ever hire you onto my staff?"

She gave him that carefully crafted, coquettish smile of hers. "Because I'm good at what I do. Because I have the contacts in the media that you need, and because you'll _really _need them once Soltoi starts coming after you."

Staring at her for a moment, he finally replied, "Not to disparage your…no doubt impressive talents, but if you were really as sought after as you say you are, then you could get a job with anyone. You wouldn't need to come to me." He flicked his eyes from her head to her feet and added, "I don't think I'm your type of employer."

Kilana pursed her lips in a smile. "Confident, influential, and handsome?"

"Merely a _prospective _senator, was what I was thinking," Weyoun replied.

"Modest, as well. What a winning combination."

Feeling his patience begin to fray slightly, he said, "If you're looking for a new job, Miss Yeroi, I suggest you discuss it with Loura Thelesoi."

"Oh, please," Kilana scoffed. "Thelesoi couldn't win against Parnon. I highly doubt she can win against _you_."

"You're that confident in my prospects?"

"No more than you," she shot back shrewdly.

He narrowed his eyes. "Why do you really want to work for me? I know you, Kilana. You're good enough to find a position in a more promising office."

One corner of Kilana's lips turned upwards and she slid off the desk. "You haven't invited me to sit down."

With a snort, he said flatly, "Where _are _my manners?"

Kilana's sardonic smile grew and she seated herself in the office's one extra chair. Folding her hands in her lap, she said, "Promise me that you'll at least give my application some consideration."

He looked at her and gave her a sincere look, which he doubted she'd find convincing. "Of course."

The expression on her face confirmed that his false sincerity didn't fool her, but she didn't call him out. Instead, she leaned back and stared at him for a long moment, before finally saying, "You stood up to Soltoi when the rest of us have always been afraid to. I admire that."

"She offered me a choice," Weyoun said coolly. "All I did was avail myself of one of the options presented to me."

Kilana pursed her lips in amusement. "I'm sure you did. That must be why Soltoi spent the six weeks following your resignation trying to ruin your career in the Complex." When Weyoun didn't respond, she smiled slightly. "It's not an easy thing to stand up to her."

"And you think that by working for me, you will be?" he asked.

Her smile grew pleasant, though it was a smile that didn't reach past the surface of her expression. "Yes. She's just as intent on making sure _you _lose your campaign as she was on ensuring that she won her own two years ago."

Abruptly, he turned his gaze to the padd he'd been studying before she came in. "Then I pity her. I'm certainly not running as some sort of _revenge _on Soltoi."

"No? Well, you should be. Because she's out for your blood, Weyoun."

"You're not telling me anything that I don't know. Anyway, I dealt with this once already, so I have a certain amount of preparation this time."

Kilana smiled mockingly. "Of course. Weyoun Uldron is always prepared for everything."

"One of my finest qualities."

"I can't help wondering what you think the others are."

He didn't take the bait. "You seem unusually churlish today, Yeroi. I always thought one of _your _better qualities was your disingenuous genialness."

She didn't rise to the bait, either. Instead, she unexpectedly asked, "You're married now, aren't you?" Giving him a pleasant look with just the barest hint of a hard edge, she added, "Arethoi, correct?"

He watched her coldly and without blinking. "Yes. Happily."

"Hm. What a fateful hearing Hellad was for you." Nothing in her voice gave him the impression that she thought this was a particularly good thing. She glanced around his office, then said idly, "I was going to get married. That is, until Soltoi kept me working impossible hours and I was only home a few days a week, and then only to go to bed. And at the end of it, did I get rewarded for the work I'd put in?"

"It's not my problem or concern that Soltoi broke up your engagement," Weyoun said, turning his attention back to his work. "Or that you got passed over for a promotion."

She started to glare at him, then smoothed her expression to something more agreeable. "I don't need it to be. What I'm telling you is that _you _may not be out for revenge against Soltoi, but _I am_. You think I'm churlish? I'm _angry_. And there's no better motivation than anger and vengeance."

For a long moment, he watched her unblinkingly, considering this. She had a point. But then again, there was the issue of the thorny professional relationship between the two of them, and that stopped him, at the last second, from telling her he'd consider it. "I don't think so," he said. "Thank you, though, for your offer."

Kilana bowed her head, a shadow of irritation passing across her face. "Of course." She turned to leave his office, but then hesitated in the doorway and turned to face him again. "I should mention that I have some information on Soltoi that might interest you."

Weyoun angled his head and narrowed his eyes at her. "Information?" So. This was the real reason she thought he'd hire her. Everything else had been prelude.

Taking a step back inside, she said, "Yes. Information of such a nature that if Soltoi were to come after you, threatening to go public with it would make her stop."

An amused smile crept onto his face. "Are you actually _bribing _me?" he asked.

"The thought had certainly occurred to me. But no. I'd like to think of it more as me doing you a favor."

"And me owing you one."

Kilana shrugged. "Yes, I suppose."

For a long moment, Weyoun studied her, keeping his face carefully blank. The idea of working with Yeroi every day was somewhat distasteful, but he couldn't deny that she was good at her job. And if she really _did _know something that would keep Soltoi at bay… "What's the information?" he finally asked.

She smiled. "Are you offering me a job?"

Giving her a commanding stare, he said, "Bring me the information tomorrow, and I'll think about it."

Her expression tightened momentarily, then relaxed into her charming smile. "I'll see you then," she replied, with the air of someone who knew she was about to get exactly what she wanted.

* * *

He hired her. At least, he gave her the promise of an eventual hiring, once he could officially do so, and his word was good. The padd she handed him the following morning, detailing a fifty-year-old scandal that had been cleverly covered up, impressed him, not so much for its manipulation possibilities—though that was certainly part of it—but because of the fact that Kilana was good enough to have dug all of it up. Some of it, he was sure, had been deeply buried and heavily encrypted; some of the people she'd surely spoken with retired, and her methods probably hadn't all been strictly legal. But holding the padd in his hand, understanding, suddenly, so much about Soltoi that he never had, he found that he didn't care. The story was shocking in many ways and there was no mystery why it had been covered up. Having read through it, he knew he'd never be able to look at Soltoi the same way again. If any of it got out, her career would be over.

The need to use it never became explicit, though; a few dropped hints that someone in the Complex knew something was enough to keep the campaign at merely its normal levels of incivility.

As it turned out, Kilana was the only staff that he hired for his campaign. However, Leto took on the role of his senior aide in everything but name, and Eris…Eris gave him everything she could and more, and he tried to express how much it meant to him every time he put his arms around her, because he knew words never could.

And he won. At the end of election night, with all Tira Exarchate districts reporting, he had secured fifty-one percent of the vote, making him Senator-elect Uldron. His friends and staff, such as it was, had gathered in Foros's offices to watch election returns, and they were so boisterous that when Tira's governor put an interface call through to congratulate him, he had trouble hearing the man. Deimos and Rayik had procured enough rippleberry wine to get all of them well and truly inebriated, though the two of them partook the most, followed by Kilana, who had the most genuine smile on her face that Weyoun had ever seen. Eris held his hand tightly and waited until they got home, in the small hours of the morning, to put her arms around his neck and kiss him gently.

In one week, he would take up his post, and he would use the time to move into his new offices (fourth floor, tiny, and vacated by a newly-reelected senator from Dessa Exarchate), hire a full staff, and formalize the staffing decisions he'd already made. To that end, he sought out Leto while she was taking her lunch break, catching her in the corridor outside the canteen as she was returning to Foros's office.

Immediately, he handed her a bottle of rippleberry wine, and Leto gave him a questioning look. "What's this?" she asked him, then, with a bright grin, added, "Senator?"

"Senator-elect. For a few more days, at least," he corrected her, returning the smile. "And that's for all your help on my campaign."

She stared at it, scanning the label. "I don't know anything about wine, so you could have gotten me something cheap…but knowing you, this is an excellent year."

"Guilty as charged."

Smiling and shaking her head, she replied, "Thank you—but I was happy to help. Though that's not to say that I won't need to drink this entirely in one sitting. I still haven't recovered from the final debate."

"Having been on both sides of that wall, I'm inclined to think that the aides backstage have it much worse than the candidates," he said. "You were indispensable, though." She waved away the compliment, and Weyoun gave her a more serious look. "Leto, I wanted to ask you something."

Tilting her head at him and looking honestly puzzled by his tone, she said, "Go on."

"I was wondering if you'd come work for me." He watched her, gauging her reaction. "I need a senior aide and I can't think of anyone better suited for the job."

Leto stared at him, her eyes wide. "You're not joking?"

"Not at all." He stared at her seriously. "I've checked with Foros already and he says he's thrilled to accept your resignation so I can hire you. Though he's obviously thrilled to keep you on his staff if you'd rather not come work for me."

Her eyes were still wide, but there was a delighted smile spreading across her face. "No, I—Founders." She drew in a deep breath. "This is the last thing I expected. It was one thing to help you during the campaign, but— You know I don't have a university degree, don't you? Foros hired me directly out of school."

"It doesn't matter to me. Does it to you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No." She laughed. "No, of course it doesn't." Then, in a formal tone that was marred slightly by the bubbly happiness beneath it, she said, "Senator Uldron, it would be an honor to accept the position of senior aide in your office."

He held out a hand and she clasped it firmly, and then Weyoun said, "The first thing I plan on doing is increasing protections for historical sites in Tira Exarchate."

Leto grinned. "I'll start working on it right away."

"And," he added, his mind whirring into action, "I need to get on the spaceflight committee. The sequestrists are stalling. The entire project's being held up."

At that, Leto rolled her eyes and said, "You'd think they'd be more excited about getting into space now. Everyone _else_ is happy about the radio signal."

The radio signal that she was referring to had been picked up only weeks previously; an anomalous burst of static in an otherwise normal stream of satellite data. Someone at Ground Control had noticed it and, not knowing what to make of it, sent it over to Tira University's astronomy department, where preliminary reports had quickly leaked out that it appeared to be a fragment of an artificial signal. There was too much degradation to reconstruct it, but the idea that intelligent life somewhere else in the universe had produced it had quickly swept any number of emotions across the entire planet—excitement, anxiety, fear, exhilaration. Everyone had felt some combination of them. Weyoun had been working on spaceflight for so long that he couldn't be anything but thrilled. Besides, he had Deimos supplying him with information that the general public wasn't privy to. Information about where that signal had come from (close), when it had been produced (within the last fifty years, probably more recently), and the sector of space that it had originated from (a strip of the night sky that included the Nebula).

"They don't want to believe that there's anyone out there besides the Founders," Weyoun said. "It's understandable."

"Maybe."

With a thin smile, he remarked, "Deimos would have said 'maybe the Founders produced it'."

Leto rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Deimos has an overactive imagination, and it's why he works for the science lobby instead of in a senatorial office." When he laughed, she smiled slightly, then asked, "Who are you planning on displacing from the implementation committee? They're all pretty firmly entrenched."

"I'll get one of the sequestrists out," he said. "It doesn't matter which one." Clasping his hands behind his back, he added, "There are only enough of them to slow things down, and they won't be able to keep me off the committee if I want to be there badly enough."

"Not if Foros and Deimos want you there badly enough, too," she remarked.

"My thoughts exactly." He narrowed his eyes, looking off into the distance at the hive of activity that was the canteen's outer corridor. "This isn't just about scientific discovery. If we don't start mining Soura's dilithium deposits, there are going to be energy shortages all over Kurill."

Shaking her head and shifting the bottle in her hands, Leto said, "Some people don't want to believe there's anything out there besides the Founders, and some people don't want to believe that the Pegrill dilithium seam is actually several hundred kilometers shorter than it was supposed to be. I suppose we all cling to something, it's just that most of us aren't in a position of power for that clinging to be dangerous."

Raising an eyebrow at her, Weyoun said, "And you thought I might care that you didn't go to university."

With a grin, she replied, "Foros always said I was more insightful than a good number of senators on the Council. Flattery, of course, but I can't pretend I didn't appreciate it."

"It's not just flattery." Weyoun returned her smile and clapped her on the shoulder lightly. "I'm sure Foros has already told you this, but—you're going to be an impressive senator someday."

She colored slightly, two faint splotches of purple appearing in her cheeks, before bowing her head momentarily. "You're my benefactor now, so I suppose I need to learn how to gracefully accept a compliment from you."

In answer, he just smiled, and was about to take his leave of her, when she mused, "That signal—it really is a shame it's so badly distorted. I'd like to know what it said. Maybe we could have sent something back."

Weyoun hesitated, knowing he should agree with her and walk away. But there was something else that he knew, something speculative, which the lead researcher at Tira University's astronomy department had only shared after much cajoling and a little ego-stroking. Even Deimos hadn't known this tidbit, though he'd planted the idea in Weyoun's mind when he'd remarked on the oddness of the signal's transmission frequency. The information wasn't something Weyoun would tell just anyone—it was alarmist, for one thing, and any combination of alarmist and conjectural tended to be a bad thing—but Leto, as his soon-to-be senior aide, was someone he had to trust.

"They couldn't reconstruct it enough to decipher the content," he agreed, "but they pieced together part of it. It was broadcast on a wide-spectrum frequency. That's why we picked it up at all—our orbital listening posts aren't advanced enough to pull anything more focused out of the background radiation."

Leto shook her head. "I'm not sure I understand. How does that tell us anything? What does it mean?"

He put his hands behind his back again, met her eyes, and lowered his voice. "Of course there's no way to know with any certainty. But on that frequency—it was a distress call."

Every bit of good humor fled from her face. Crossing her arms over her chest, holding the bottle of wine by its neck, she repeated, "A distress call?"

Her body language was unmistakable—the idea disturbed her; maybe she didn't want to know this, but Weyoun nevertheless said, "Yes. Someone was calling for help."

For a long moment, she didn't say anything. He regretted telling her. Then, with a hesitancy that suggested she didn't want to know the answer, she asked, "Do you think they got it?"

Weyoun gazed past her down the corridor. The crowds were thinning as the lunch hour passed, but groups of aides, runners, and senators were still clumped at tables throughout the canteen, or standing in the hall talking. He was sure most of them felt that their conversations were earth-shattering, but he doubted any of them really were. Maybe this one wasn't either. Still, how odd, to contemplate and discover that one's species wasn't alone in the universe, only to find out in the same moment that there was something _else _out there, something that could prompt a desperate cry for help on a frequency that everyone in the cosmological neighborhood would hear, but which no one would be able to understand. "For their sake," he finally said, "I hope so."

* * *

There was a crispness to the northern air that mid-continental Tira never experienced; a bite that could turn to hoar frost at night and trace the newly-budded leaves on the trees in silvered ice crystals. Already those leaves had lost the brightness of the early dry season, deepening to a fuller green and spreading wide to catch the sun's rays as the northern hemisphere tilted away from it.

"How long have you been planning this, just out of curiosity?"

Weyoun breathed deeply, then turned away from the surrounding woodlands to look at Eris. "Months," he said cheerfully. "I would have surprised you completely but I've always rather gotten the sense that you don't care for surprises."

With a smile, she replied, "Nice surprises are fine. But I wouldn't have been able to take two weeks off on short notice." She glanced over at him and smiled brightly, adjusting the strap of her bag across her shoulder. "Two weeks with you in a high-end resort where no one can contact us unless we initiate it—it almost seems too good to be true."

"Well, it seemed to me that we've been married four years and we should probably take a vacation together at some point." Birds called all around them and monkeys chattered in the branches above as they walked up the wooded path towards the cabin they'd rented for the next two weeks. The resort, and surrounding area, was called Loravin, and it was idyllic—gently rolling hills, wooded with broad, leafy deciduous trees and cut through with clear, cold rills. The area was famed for its bird-watching, fishing, and hiking. The resort was famed for its dedication to maintaining the privacy of its guests. And after his first few months of senatorial duties, Weyoun was more than ready to take a vacation.

Within another few minutes, they reached their lodgings for the next two weeks. The cabin, a two bedroom, one-storey affair ringed by a deck, was set at the crown of a low hill with tall trees surrounding it. Several wide wooden chairs sat out on the deck near the front door, and the inside was furnished in a similar style.

The two of them unpacked, explored the forest immediately around the cabin, and then returned to prepare dinner from the fully stocked kitchen. Later, after a long dinner and a bottle or two of rippleberry wine, Eris moved towards the door and opened it, staring out into the darkness. "Weyoun," she said softly, sounding breathless. "Turn the light off and come out here." He did as she asked, mystified, and felt his way through the dark to the living room. Her form, standing in the doorway, was a black silhouette, and he joined her. "Look," she said.

The two of them stepped through the door and he looked where she was indicating: up towards the sky. The sight made him draw in a small, sharp breath of surprise. Instead of the matte purplish-black of the night sky that he'd always looked up into, he saw a deep, inky expanse, and within it, a haze of white light, stretching in a band across the sky. Stars, he realized. He was seeing stars for the first time in his life. "That's the galaxy," he whispered unnecessarily, feeling suddenly as though the still hush of the night shouldn't be broken.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Eris asked, her own face turned upwards.

He just nodded. All the spaceflight legislation had made him think about space in terms of numbers and variables; practicalities and technicalities, and then that radio signal had made him wonder what they were getting into by going there. He'd forgotten—no, he'd never _known—_that space could be…poetry, or music, or—something that he didn't have the vocabulary to describe. There was suddenly something in him; an expanse of inexpressible feeling in his chest, and the closest thing to it that he'd ever experienced was…was—

Weyoun glanced towards Eris and he could just make out the familiar, beautiful lines and curves of her face, and the barest shine of her eyes. Taking her hand tightly, he said, "Very beautiful."

She turned to him and squeezed his hand. "I'm glad we came here."

The two of them stood on the deck in the dark stillness, silent and listening to the polyphonic calls of night herons and owls while they stared up at the sky. The depth to it, and the white band of the galaxy as they looked inwards towards its center, felt like infinite possibility. He wondered if somewhere else up in that milky strip of stars, another being on some other planet was staring up at it, feeling the same sense of awe.

"Let's sit down," Eris finally said, pulling him towards the two chairs that were on the deck. They settled in and the scope of the night seemed to pull back in towards them, shrinking down to a scale that he could understand. He didn't feel quite so small, at least, as he kept his hand linked with his wife's.

After a few moments, Eris made a small noise of recognition and said, pointing again, "Look how bright the Nebula is." She was right; with both moons down and no other lights in the sky, the Nebula looked like a glowing ember set against the hazy white of the galaxy.

He'd never really thought of the Nebula as a _place _before, but now, seeing it there, the obvious felt like a revelation—it was. That hypothetical being that he'd imagined could be in the Nebula, staring at Kurill's sun just as he was staring towards it.

"Do you think the Founders really come from there?" he asked. It was part of the legend, though in recent centuries the importance of that aspect of the story had waned.

She glanced at him. "I don't know," she mused. "Honestly, I always wondered about that. It seems so…obvious. If _you _were an ancient Vorta, and you knew the Founders came from space, where else would you choose?"

"Soura's dark side," Weyoun smirked.

Giving him a stern look, she said, "You shouldn't joke about the Founders."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

She looked back towards the sky. "It just seems very…convenient."

"Not to mention there are those questionable modern attempts to pin down the legendary past to a specific location. You wouldn't know anything about that," Weyoun remarked solicitously, grinning.

"My _clever _husband," she said airily, and he leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Do _you _believe that they came from there?" she asked, turning the question back towards him.

Running his thumb over the back of her hand, he said, "I've never given it all that much thought before now."

"And what are you thinking now?"

He remained silent while he mulled over it. "Now…it isn't that difficult to imagine the Founders looking towards us the same way we're looking towards the Nebula, is it?"

Nearby, a night heron called, and the sound of its wings rustling past as it launched itself from a tree distracted them for a moment. Just when he thought she wasn't going to answer, Eris replied quietly, "No." Then, she seemed to shake something off. "It's close, isn't it? I mean, astronomically speaking?"

Weyoun disentangled his hand from hers to put an arm around her, and he rubbed her back between her shoulder blades. He realized that he was glad to be talking about something concrete. "Two light years, according to Deimos. I suppose that's considered close."

Eris nodded thoughtfully. "Not that I know anything about space travel, but it certainly seems feasible that gods could cross two light years."

At that, he glanced at her. "Well, hopefully we're all about to know a lot more about space travel." When Eris looked at him, an eyebrow arched questioningly, he went on, "Deimos told me the other day that the first manned orbitals are going to be launched within a year. They'll orbit Kurill and if that goes well, a docking platform will be installed on the satellite station."

Eris's grin flashed even in the darkness. "Weyoun—that's amazing. _You're _responsible for that."

"Foros is mostly responsible for it," he demurred.

Turning to him and taking his hand again, she replied, "Foros started it but you kept pushing. And you're the one that got the refining restrictions loosened so the orbital fuel could be manufactured more quickly."

A smile twitched at Weyoun's mouth. "I love it when you start talking legislative hearings."

She snorted when he buried his face in the crook of her neck and kissed her collarbone. "I know _just _how to get you into bed."

With a chuckle, he sat back up, eyeing her body and toying with the short, feathery hair at the nape of her neck. "Not that it's ever been that difficult for you."

It was impossible to read the look in her eyes in the darkness, but the hand that she slid across his leg to his inner thigh, her fingers inching upwards, left no doubt as to what she was thinking. Her voice lowered to a purr. "I'm irresistible, you're saying?"

He gave a low laugh and turned to completely face her, easing a knee between her legs and letting go of her hand to run his up her arm to her shoulder, the close-cut fabric of her shirt bunching under his palm, the skin underneath it feeling tantalizingly close and unreachable at the same time. "Do I need to say it?"

"It never hurts," she replied, her voice still a purr. When he started to move his hand to her side, brushing his fingers across the front of her shirt, she slid into his lap, straddling him, her legs hanging off the back of the chair. "Though," she added, kissing his temple lingeringly, then moving down the side of his face, "at the moment, I must say that it's clear enough without you saying it."

"Delicately put," he murmured, unbuttoning the front of her shirt, unclasping her underwear, and putting his hands on her bare skin.

She shivered at his touch just as her lips finally found his. Their kiss was shot through with hunger that deepened when Eris worked his shirt off; and the coolness of the night air heightened his awareness of the heat of her body. He slipped her shirt off her shoulders and then slowly kissed the newly bared skin there, wanting to savor this night, and his desire, until it became impossible to do so any longer.

Her fingers traced delicate lines down his back and she pushed her hips slowly into his, smiling and resting her forehead against his when the pressure drew a groan from him. "Bedroom?" she breathed.

"Mm." He put a hand on her neck, his fingers in her hair, and kissed her deeply. "Not yet." The way she shifted her hips almost made him rethink that, but he distracted himself with the rest of her body, running his hands over her slender curves.

Eventually he slid his hands under her buttocks and lifted her momentarily while he stood up. She dropped her feet lightly to the wooden deck and hooked two fingers into the waist of his trousers, pulling him inside and into the bedroom, where the rest of their clothing seemed utterly unnecessary. Time seemed to slow and it was enough, for awhile, to lie there with her, their fingers tracing lines of desire on each other's skin. He caught her lower lip in his teeth lightly as he broke a deep kiss, then pressed his lips to her neck and the back of her delicately ribbed ear.

"Weyoun," she murmured. When he made an indistinct noise in response, continuing to kiss her neck and the back of her ear, she asked, "Weyoun, what do you think about having a child?" He raised his head and propped himself up on one elbow, surprised by the seriousness of the question, and she slid an arm around his neck, her fingers skimming his shoulders. "It might be a good time to start trying," she said. Then, she added, "We have over three years before you run for re-election."

There was no question in his mind, and he answered without even thinking about it. "Yes. It's a wonderful idea."

"Really?"

He leaned in to kiss her collarbone, then her breasts, as she sighed in contentment. "Of course," he finally replied, as he ran a hand down her body and rested it on her hip. "But what about you? If we time it wrong you'll have to take an excavation season off."

"We'll have to make sure we don't time it wrong, then." A seductive smile crept onto her face and she kissed his ear, then bit it gently. "It's going to require a time commitment either way. Especially the…preparations."

"I'll clear my schedule," he replied, and she drew in a sharp breath of pleasure as his hand wandered from her hip.

"Not to discourage you," she murmured, sliding her hands down his back, "but my hormone patch still has another two weeks on it."

He kissed her, parting her lips with his tongue, and she responded enthusiastically. "Practice," he managed to reply, and she laughed, which turned into a gasp as he allowed his lips to explore other parts of her anatomy. She shifted after a few minutes so that they were face to face again and he was looking into her eyes. The sight of them stilled him for a moment, and he raised a hand to her face. "I love you," he said feelingly. "You know that, don't you?"

Eris covered his hand with hers and leaned into his palm cupped over her cheek. "Of course I know." Smiling softly, she added, "This is…perfect."

"What?"

"All of this. You and me. Here. Anywhere. I never thought I'd feel that way." She traced a line down his chest with her finger and then flattened her hand over his heart.

"Well, that's clearer," he murmured, leaning in to kiss her again. When she pulled back a little, he gave her a questioning look, and she reached under her upper arm and pulled off a small, clear patch, about the size of a fingernail.

Holding it up, the adhesive keeping it stuck to her thumb, she asked, "You're sure about children?"

"Absolutely," he replied, his eyes on the hormone patch.

She reached over the side of the bed and flicked it away. "Just to give the decision some symbolic significance," she said with a smile, putting her hands to his face and running her fingers through his hair. It felt electric—symbolic significance, indeed. This time, when he moved to kiss her, she met him halfway, and he wrapped his arms around her, molding their bodies together. Every piece of scientific research had shown that the likelihood that they'd conceive a child tonight was so minuscule that it might as well be impossible—but he didn't see that there was any reason not to try, and maybe more than once.

He knew what Eris meant. The two of them, together—it was a precious thing that he'd never expected to have, and he thanked the Founders before losing himself in the yawning vastness of yearning between him and his wife.


	8. Chapter 7

7

**60,060 (Kurillian Calendar)**

The design and construction of the first generation of manned orbitals was one of the most complicated tasks that Kurill's science and engineering communities had ever faced. As things turned out, it was not as simple as making a few extra modifications to an unmanned orbital, sticking a Vorta inside, and blasting it into orbit. The integration of the life support systems necessitated a complete overhaul of the basic orbital design, and once the rest of it was added in—a cockpit with flight controls, a sleeping area, Vorta interface for the advanced communications and navigational equipment—it was a completely different vehicle than the unmanned craft which had been going up for a century and a half.

The unmanned orbitals had consisted of a propulsion ring, at the center of which sat the command module, containing the computer. The manned orbitals bore a much closer resemblance to in-atmosphere shuttles, with a forward cockpit and stubby wings with the propulsion mounted beneath them. The interior was cramped, and calling it 'uncomfortable' would have been generous, but computer models showed them working, rather than crashing, exploding, burning up on atmospheric re-entry, or failing to get off the ground at all. Boarding an orbital and going into space on it wasn't a leisure activity, after all, it was a risk, and no one expected to be comfortable on them.

The manned orbital was built in pieces in Dessa, then shipped for assembly to Tira City. Weyoun made a point of going to the assembly site frequently—it was good politics to be seen there, for one thing. One day, having gone to the site together, Deimos showed Weyoun a mock-up of the cockpit that had been approved for construction and Weyoun, not claustrophobic by any stretch, shivered at the idea of being crammed inside, with only duraplastic walls between oneself and the vacuum.

"You still want to be on the first one?" Weyoun asked, once they'd stepped outside. Construction noise echoing around the cavernous space made for a less than pleasant environment, but the two of them had gotten used to it with all the time they spent in the factory.

"They can't finish it soon enough," Deimos replied, a gleam in his eye as the two of them walked towards the balcony overlooking the main floor. Deimos leaned against the rail while Weyoun wrapped his hands around it, and both of them stared downwards at the ongoing assembly of the orbital. Blowtorches flared and there was near-constant hammering and drilling. When a saw came on, filling the air with painful screeching, the two of them quickly made their retreat to the site manager's office, where they were filled in on the progress and estimated time to completion.

As they got into the hail-armored vehicle that they'd been allocated to drive them to and from the factory, Deimos couldn't keep the grin off his face. "Ahead of schedule!" he crowed. "I'll be up there in a few months at this rate!"

The driver looked back, amused, and Weyoun shared the sentiment. Deimos got more irrepressible every time they visited the factory; every time that they saw the orbital slowly but surely taking shape on the floor. Weyoun didn't think he'd really believe that Foros, Deimos, and he had accomplished such a monumental feat until the thrusters fired on the orbital's engines and it disappeared into the atmosphere. It hadn't seemed that real, at least, in all his visits to the factory, despite the fact that it was coming closer and closer to being finished. It already clearly _looked _like an orbital.

"You'll have to wait for Firstmonth, at least," Weyoun remarked. "Unless someone's come up with a way to cut through the monsoon interference."

"No," Deimos sighed. "Sadly, no." He shrugged. "I have to finish the training, anyway."

With a snort, Weyoun said, "Ah yes, the training, put together by Kurill's finest experts on orbital travel. It's _imperative _that you complete that. Do you have the world's best shuttle pilot signed on yet?"

"She's probably the most qualified to be teaching me anything," Deimos said, ignoring Weyoun's sarcasm. "We modeled the flight controls on a shuttle's, after all."

"Well, you may have a point there." Weyoun leaned back in his seat and addressed the driver, "If you don't mind, I'm going straight home today."

"Yes, Senator."

Deimos had pulled a padd from his briefcase and was scanning it. "Latest refinery reports," he said, waving it in the air when Weyoun looked at him questioningly. "We've got a supply to send five or six of these things up as of now."

Raising his eyebrows, Weyoun replied, "Assuming our mass to energy consumption ratios are correct."

The other man made a face and said, "I hope they are. I'm not too keen on getting up there and finding out I used three times the amount of fuel escaping the planet's gravity than we'd modeled."

Weyoun clapped him on the shoulder and grinned. "Pay attention in that training; you never know what you might learn."

Deimos just looked amused. "By the way," he said, "speaking of learning, I'll be at Eris's lecture tomorrow. Is she nervous?"

With a smile, Weyoun replied, "Eris doesn't get nervous. Even when huge amounts of grant money are at stake."

"Well, not that she should be. I maintain that it's unfathomable how such a brilliant woman ended up with you."

"And luckily, my ego isn't easily wounded."

Deimos laughed. "Honestly, though, I'm looking forward to it. I've been so focused on my own work lately. It'll be nice to get some perspective on another discipline."

The armored vehicle picked up speed and the sound of the rain and hail pounding on it became correspondingly louder. This mode of transportation would have been unthinkable for him while he'd worked for Soltoi—she never would have used it for business involving her aides. Now he didn't think twice about ordering one, even when he could have gone somewhere by train. The armored vehicle was simply faster in many cases.

Before long, the vehicle entered the Athoun district, and Weyoun's home, with its duraplastic shielded walkway, came into view. Weyoun and Eris had moved to their house on a bluff outside Tira City in the past year, in a neighborhood that was home to many of the city's political and intellectual elite and had large, private lots that hid the houses from each other, as well as heavily-shielded walkways so it was possible to live there during the monsoon. It was also, of course, serviced by a monsoon-ready metro. Weyoun and Eris's house was one level and sprawling, with an open kitchen and living room and a verandah that overlooked a lake and forest that lay to one side of the property.

As the vehicle pulled up to the shelter, an awning extended out to provide protection from the rain and hail as he opened the door, thanked the driver, and bid good-bye to Deimos until the following day. Then he walked briskly up the half-kilometer covered pathway, looking up every now and then at the bare branches of the trees. A few dead limbs had been broken off by hail and were plastered to the top of the covering by the rain, but for the most part, the flexible branches stood up to the monsoon's abuse. The trees were one of many reasons they'd moved to this particular house—in the dry season they bloomed; tiny white _damas _flowers opening by day on every limb. Eris had said they were just like the trees outside her childhood home. They had a sweet, thick odor that somehow wasn't cloying, and during the dry season the house had been filled with it. It had been the transported look on Eris's face that had made up Weyoun's mind to buy the house, actually; the way she clearly had been filled with a happy nostalgia for her childhood. He wasn't—how could he be?—but he wanted any future children that he might have to look back on their childhoods with the same joy that his wife did.

At the door, he waved his ID disc over the entry panel and entered the house. He'd expected it empty and wasn't disappointed. For a moment or two, he listened to rain and hail on the reinforced roof, trying to guess the size of the hail chunks by the sound they made. The wind had died down earlier in the day and without the deep gusts, the rain was soothing and rhythmic. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, before going to their house shrine and lighting a candle. Then he checked the time. Enough for him to get some more work done before starting dinner.

It was dinner that he was preparing when the door opened and Eris came in, looking deeply preoccupied until she saw him. "You're home early," she said, sounding surprised.

"You're home late," he countered, measuring out a portion of wine and pouring it into the skillet.

"Still early enough to have beaten you back under normal circumstances," she said with a smile.

He shrugged. "You looked tired this morning. I wanted to make sure you could relax and finish preparing your lecture when you got home."

"That's something of a contradiction in terms." For a moment, she stood in the door, her briefcase still in her hands. Then, she put it down slowly and took another step inside, though she stopped again. Weyoun gave her a bemused look. She wasn't acting as though something was wrong, precisely, but it was obvious that something was on her mind.

"Is everything all right?" he asked. "There isn't a problem with the grant, is there?"

"What?" That seemed to startle her, as though she'd forgotten all about the fact that she was shortlisted for one of the most major grants on the planet. "No, no, that's all fine. It's—" She paused, and for the first time Weyoun started genuinely to worry. Finally, she said, "I'm pregnant."

The cup in his hand seemed to drop to the counter of its own accord as, for a second, all he could do was stare at her. "You—really?" he said, at a loss for words for maybe the second time in his life. Of course they'd been trying, but—well, Vorta reproduction being what it was, he'd thought it would take longer—though they did try a lot—

Eris nodded, stepping into the kitchen, a smile growing on her face. "Eight weeks," she said, taking a deep breath. "I've been so tired and achy, and this morning I just thought, 'what if?' and, well—the doctor confirmed it."

He realized he was still gripping the cup tightly and released it. Eris's smile was bright and happy, but beneath it her nerves were obvious. Going to her side and taking her arms in his hands, he began, "Eris—"

She placed her hands on his chest and gave him a cautionary look. "You know the chances aren't good."

Weyoun kissed her, probability not seeming all that important at the moment. She was _pregnant_. The possibility of him becoming a father was suddenly very real. "I know. Twelve percent."

"It's probably better to think of it as an eighty-eight percent chance that I won't carry to term," she said, but then she put her arms around his neck, some of the anxiety slipping away and her smile lighting her face. "It's exciting though, isn't it?"

"I can't think of anything more exciting," he replied, wrapping his arms carefully around her, already feeling a tendency to treat her like glass.

It didn't get past her either, and she laughed. "You're not going to break anything," she said, and he smiled sheepishly, holding her more tightly. Then, resting her head against his, she said in a quiet, pragmatic tone, "I understand that the miscarriage isn't very painful. Not as painful as the last few months of the pregnancy, anyway." She pulled back to meet his eyes and smiled sardonically. "The price of the continuation of the species, I suppose."

Weyoun could remember his mother's constant state of pregnancy, even vaguely the pregnancy-miscarriage-pregnancy cycle, though he couldn't have said whether or not she'd been in much pain. Maybe he hadn't noticed. He'd been young. And his earliest memories were of looking for an escape—he hadn't been particularly attuned to the minutiae of his parents' lives. Or anything about his parents' lives. Still, maybe gutter-scum women just got used to it. He supposed given enough time, one could get used to anything. "Well," he said, "are we celebrating or preparing ourselves for the worst?"

She gave him an impish smile and kissed him quickly. "Celebrating. We're one step closer, after all." Her smile widened, and she grabbed his hands. "And who knows? In a few years that spare bedroom might be a nursery."

He couldn't help laughing and hugging her again. Had it been a mere two hours ago that he'd thought the most momentous thing in his life was a manned orbital? He was filled simultaneously with a feeling both of his own significance and insignificance—Eris and him were genetically viable together; they could create a new life; and it was the same thing that Vorta had been doing, with varying success, for tens of millennia, and that they'd continue to do, Founders willing, for many more. The world felt huge and small at the same time, but more importantly, full of nascent possibility. Regardless of whether this pregnancy was viable or not, things were different now.

* * *

Months passed; the monsoon continued as it always did. The grant, to no one's surprise, was awarded to Eris. The manned orbital's construction stayed ahead of schedule and parts for a second and third were built and shipped to Tira City. A launch date was set for halfway through Firstmonth. The launch pad had been retrofitted for the manned orbitals during the previous dry season and one day Weyoun took an armored vehicle out to the site alone—except for the silent driver—staring through the rivulets of water running down the windshield at the rain-lashed service tower.

Eris's pregnancy progressed, her stomach swelling over the months until, towards the end of the monsoon, she started wincing at the pressure and rubbing her back. Weyoun didn't tell her, but he wasn't _entirely _sorry for her discomfort, not when frequent massages led almost as frequently into other, more intimate, activities.

She kept lecturing at Tira University, of course—she'd lecture until the moment she went into labor, such was her dedication to her job—remarking wryly once that seeing a pregnant teacher was almost as important a part of their education for some of her students as the course itself.

The two of them had one of their quietest Effulgence Festivals; with Eris approaching ten months, she was too tired to stay out late, and too plagued with hyper-sensitive hearing and smell to want to be out on the streets for long, anyway. After services, they stood out on the verandah in the dark and sent two sky lanterns aloft, then went back inside and lit candles, lying in bed together and watching the flickering light playing on the walls.

Then, in no time at all, the launch date was upon the planet. Deimos, who had spent the last month of the monsoon in a heightened state of excitement, became cooler and calmer as the countdown went from weeks to days, going so far as to sequester himself in his office for the two days prior to liftoff. The well-wishers, he'd said aggrievedly over an internal interface call to Weyoun, while well-meaning, were destroying his concentration. He, of course, would be required to board the orbital fifteen hours in advance for the long pre-flight checklist, which meant he was leaving for the launch site mid-afternoon the day before.

Not that the idea of breaking Deimos's concentration was going to stop Weyoun from being a well-wisher himself, and so, around the time he thought Deimos might be getting ready to leave the Complex, he stood up, told his personal assistant and Leto where he was going, and opened the office door.

Deimos was standing there, his hand outstretched to open the door, but he drew it back with a grin as Weyoun said, "Your timing is impeccable as always, Deimos. I was just coming to see you."

Still grinning, Deimos said, "I always rather got the impression that you thought my timing was abysmal."

"You used to have a certain tendency to insert yourself into situations where your presence wasn't required, but time seems to have cured you of the habit."

"Your dates back at university, you mean? It's possible that I was purposefully making a nuisance of myself."

"You don't say," Weyoun remarked in mock surprise. Deimos chuckled, and Weyoun clasped his hands behind his back, watching his friend. "So," he said. "Tomorrow, then."

Nodding, Deimos agreed, "Tomorrow."

The two friends stared at each other, words feeling unnecessary. They'd known each other since the tender ages of sixteen, entered the Complex at the same time, and followed separate paths that had led them to confluences again and again. Truth be told, fifteen years ago Weyoun never would have thought they'd work together the way they had on the spaceflight program; Deimos had joked at the time that they'd be lucky not to be on opposites sides of the Council chamber in every debate. And now here they were, the tangible result of their work together sitting on a launch pad one kilometer from the Ocean.

In contrast to the past week, excitement was now radiating off the other man—the air fairly thrummed with it. No need to ask if he was looking forward to the following day, when at long last, after so many years, the first manned orbital would fire its thrusters and leave Kurill's atmosphere.

Leto poked her head out of her office at the sound of Deimos's voice and said, "Good luck, Deimos—I'd come out and be more personal but I'm writing Weyoun's triumphant speech for the post-launch session tomorrow."

Looking affronted, Deimos said, "I see, the two of you wait until I'm two thousand kilometers above the planet's surface and then you take credit for my pioneering expedition."

"I'll make sure to pay glowing tribute to you," Weyoun avowed, his mouth twitching into a crooked smile.

When Leto disappeared back into her office, Deimos turned back to Weyoun and said, "You're going to have a good seat at the launch, I hope."

"Of course."

The two of them stared at each other again, then Deimos snorted and muttered something that sounded like, "Good manners be damned," and grabbed Weyoun into a hug. Weyoun, though surprised for a moment, returned it tightly. Eighteen years of friendship—no, words weren't necessary.

Then, with a slap on Weyoun's back, Deimos stepped away. "I'd better go. Don't want to be late for my own mission."

"No," Weyoun agreed with a smile. As the other man started to turn around, Weyoun said, "Just do me a favor, would you, Deimos?" When his friend raised his eyebrows, Weyoun smiled slightly and finished, "Bring that orbital back in one piece. You wouldn't _believe _how much it cost us."

* * *

It almost felt like the Effulgence Festival again on the day of the launch. Not many Vorta seemed to want to go to work—in point of fact, as a private skimmer took Weyoun and Eris to the launch site, train after full train passed them on the metro line that the road ran parallel to. Tira University had cancelled classes for the day and most of the schools in the city had as well. Once the skimmer dropped them off, the resemblance to the festival grew, as the typical food vendors had set up shop along the pathway to the viewing podium. Eris gritted her teeth at the smell of food frying in oil but otherwise looked quietly excited.

As they approached the podium that had been set up for VIPs to watch the launch—high-ranking senators, socialites, businessmen, a few celebrities here and there—Weyoun spotted Foros and his wife surrounded by people who hadn't given him the time of day seven years ago, before he'd held onto his seat for a second term. But now he was changing Kurill, and people wanted just a little bit of that glory reflected onto themselves.

Weyoun and Eris themselves were mobbed after they ascended the stairs, and Weyoun couldn't help thinking wryly as he accepted people's congratulations or, more often than not, fawning brown-nosing, that it was a bit ironic that Deimos, the one who really would have enjoyed all the attention, was the one person who couldn't be there.

Eventually, they were able to join Foros. Never one to stand on formality, he clapped an arm around Weyoun's shoulders and said with a jovial gleam in his eye, "You thought I was out of my mind the first time I said I wanted to send a Vorta to space, didn't you?"

"I've never viewed you with anything other than the deepest respect," Weyoun said with a grin. "Though, now that you mention it, I think it was the first ten or twelve times you said you wanted to send a Vorta to space."

With a laugh, Foros said, "I appreciate the honesty."

"We're not really in the business for it, but on occasion some slips past," Weyoun replied mildly, eliciting another chuckle from Foros.

Turning to Eris, Foros said, "My dear, you look even lovelier than usual."

"I don't, Foros, but thank you." Eris put a hand to her back. "Pregnancy isn't for the vain."

Smiling and putting a hand on her shoulder, he said, "Nonsense. How far along are you?" There was a flicker of old pain in his eyes, the pain, Weyoun knew, of his wife's repeated inability to bring a pregnancy to full term.

Eris glanced down at her stomach. "Too far along. Ten months. It's fighting for every day."

Neither of them said much about her pregnancy out loud anymore, not to note that if the miscarriage didn't come soon, they might actually have a baby in five months, not to wonder about the sex of the fetus. It was always 'it' now, and somehow, the longer she remained pregnant, the more nervous the two of them got. Had she miscarried in the first few months, well, she was expected to. Now, despite the fact that neither of them said anything, they'd both started to hope that she'd be within that lucky twelve percent that carried a first pregnancy to term.

Weyoun gave himself a mental shake. Today wasn't the day to be thinking about it, and he met Eris's eyes for a moment. She smiled wryly, likely thinking the same thing he had been.

No doubt Foros noticed their wordless exchange, because he just smiled kindly and said, "I can't say that surprises me. The two of you are both fighters."

After a few more minutes' talk, they began circulating among the attendees again. Eris, well known in her field but also generally for her involvement with Hellad, was quickly drawn into her own conversations. She had a talent for determining who was interested in speaking with her solely because of her marriage and who was interested in her on her own merits, and an even greater talent in disentangling herself from conversations with the former. Weyoun left her to her own devices and chatted idly for a few minutes with the businessman, Gelnon Eron, that Foros had run against seven years ago.

Then, unexpectedly, he found himself with a quiet moment. Foros was holding the attention of a ring of industrialists and everyone else, Eris included, was clumped together in small groups. Weyoun seized the moment of silence and went to the rail at the edge of the podium, picking up threads of conversations as he went.

"Floating by yourself for a week up there—I don't think I could do it."

"What about the meteor shower?"

"The meteor shower doesn't begin for another two weeks; he'll be back before then."

"I hope I can see the landing next week; my filming schedule might conflict…"

Somehow he maintained his solitude as he stood there, staring out at the launch site. The podium had been set up about half a kilometer from it, and between the two was a sea of gently waving marsh grass and shore roses. In the distance, the Ocean was visible, its rolling, deep blue waves breaking on the rocky shoreline. And set in front of it was the poured concrete slab of the launchpad, the metal service tower jutting into the sky, and Kurill's pride—their first manned orbital, only a few short minutes from its first mission. Sun glinted off the service tower and the orbital's forward view port back into the periwinkle sky, and a wispy trail of steam rose from the coolant vents around the engines.

A shore bird picked its way through the grass, hunting for insects, and Weyoun watched for a second as its neck whipped out and it snapped its beak closed on something.

"It's beautiful, in its way, isn't it?" Eris's voice asked suddenly from his side. In a strange but compelling way, it was. Beauty in technology, perhaps. When Weyoun agreed with an inarticulate noise, she added, "I hope Deimos is happy."

"Oh, he is. The inevitable showers of accolades aside, Deimos has always been afflicted with…wanderlust."

Eris nodded, then said, "I hope even more that everything goes well up there."

Wrapping his hands around the railing, Weyoun replied, "That goes without saying."

The two of them stood there, shoulders close but not quite touching, waiting while steam continued to drift upwards around the orbital on the day's light breeze. Then, in the distance, over the launch site loudspeakers, a countdown began at one minute to liftoff. Everyone on the podium quieted, as though something had physically silenced them, and they all turned to face the launchpad. It was quiet enough that their breathing was audible, but no one made another sound.

As the countdown approached zero, the orbital's massive engines fired up, the roar of them rolling in waves across the landscape. It drowned out the countdown, but everyone knew that it had ended because suddenly, more slowly than seemed right, the orbital began lifting off the ground. As it cleared the service tower it gained speed, clawing its way upwards for momentum and sky. White clouds of steam and exhaust billowed behind it, the twin flames of its engines cutting through the plume in bright flares.

Weyoun realized he was holding his breath for the first thirty seconds or so of the orbital's flight, and he slowly let it out as the ship climbed higher and higher into the sky. The orbital gained altitude and throttled its engines up, a bright, burning tail streaming out behind it as it arced upwards into the clear, curving sky. Sooner than seemed possible, it was nothing but a bright speck of firing thrusters and gleaming white light, and then that, too, became invisible. The roar of its liftoff persisted but slowly faded until it had subsided completely.

In the wake of the orbital's takeoff, a stillness held the marsh. Then, from the direction of the larger viewing area that had been set up for the general public, came the sound of cheering. That broke the spell on the podium, and someone began applauding exuberantly. The rest of the podium joined in, except Weyoun and Eris. Both of them continued staring upwards. There was something like an ache in his chest; a certainty that things were changing, and that none of them knew what the future held.

* * *

The mission was an incredible success. In a week, the orbital landed as planned and Deimos emerged, grinning so widely that it looked like his face might split. Dark purple shadows surrounded his eyes but he remained awake for what seemed like two straight days, answering questions for the media, posing for holoimages, doing interviews on the major interface outlets. Then he disappeared for four days, sending only a brief message to Weyoun—_Recovering. Will stop by in a few days._

He hadn't finished compiling his reports yet when he stopped by Weyoun and Eris's house, which he was in the process of announcing before Eris, surprising both Deimos and Weyoun, hugged the other man. He patted her back and said, "You'll have to come up sometime, Eris. Leave the senator down here on solid ground."

Of course, they asked him what it had been like. He'd grown silent; uncharacteristically serious and subdued, and finally replied quietly, "Like nothing any of us has ever experienced." He paused, then tried, "I'd look down at Kurill and it was this perfect, beautiful marble, blue and green and purple, and then my orbital would cross the terminator and if I was on the Ocean side everything was black, and then I'd see the Marit oil fields like a lighthouse below me. Then—the first time I saw the sun rise over Kurill, it was…" Something stopped him from going on, and when he spoke again, all he said was, "I think—it was like looking into the faces of the Founders."

For a moment, none of them said anything, and finally, Eris remarked, "You're becoming a poet, Deimos."

With an easy grin that seemed to break whatever spell he was under, he replied, "It's easy to be a poet up there."

The data he'd collected was immediately put to use for planned future launches and the construction of the other two orbitals was accelerated, and several further missions planned for that dry season and beyond. Development on a new type of orbital—an extraorbital ship that could leave the confines of Kurill orbit—was also begun with some of the funding for the current generation, though without its own legislation, there wasn't much progress made.

Deimos himself resigned his position as the head of the astronomy division in the Capitol science lobby, instead taking on a job with Ground Control to train other astronauts full time and prepare for his next mission, which wouldn't be for a few months.

On Deimos's last day, Weyoun stayed at the Complex late, helping him clean out his office, and it was well after dark when he got home. The house was dark when he keyed the entry panel and opened the door—dark and heavy with an ominous silence. He put down his briefcase slowly, straining his ears to catch even the slightest sound that would indicate his wife's presence. If she was there, she'd normally at least call out a greeting to him, but there was nothing, only the faint background hum of appliances.

"Eris?" he asked into the silence. No answer. He couldn't remember her saying she'd be working late tonight, and she hadn't sent him a message saying so, but he went into the living room to check the interface anyway.

On the way, his gaze caught on the verandah door. It was open—just slightly—and he abruptly changed direction and walked towards it. The verandah faced out over the lake and forest to the side of their property and they kept several wooden chairs on it. It was completely dark outside but now that he was looking, his eyes began to pick out a still form in one of the chairs.

Eris was sitting there, hands clasped in her lap. When Weyoun turned the exterior lights on, stepped outside, and sat down next to her, she didn't seem surprised to see him, and she gave him a small, joyless smile. He stared at her, trying to discern what was wrong, because something clearly was. "How was your day?" he asked her carefully. He was good at reading his wife, but there was a haunted look in her eyes that he'd never seen before. "Did you open the new trench?"

For a second, she looked baffled, but then she blinked, and that appeared to ground her. "Oh. Yes. We did. Well—I had to ask Yuaris to do it."

Weyoun nodded, waiting for her to elaborate; perhaps to tell him what had happened without prompting. And that was when he glanced down and noticed blood spotted on the paving stones below the chair. As he stared, he saw another drop splatter the ground, and his eyes traced its path back up to her chair. "Eris," he said, trying to keep his voice even, "you're bleeding."

She looked away from him, and the smooth mask of her face cracked a little. "The doctor told me that's normal."

"Doctor?" Weyoun slid forward in the chair until he was balanced on the edge of it, and he closed his hand around her wrist. "Eris, what happened?"

There was a long silence. Weyoun's eyes couldn't help going back to that spot on the ground, dark with blood, and a sharp-edged fear was thrumming through him. Finally, Eris looked at him, and exhaustion and pain washed over her face. Her features looked abruptly sunken, pinched; her paleness was suddenly an unhealthy wan-ness, and she said quietly, her voice just barely cracking, "I miscarried."

He swallowed and drew a breath in sharply through his nose. "Eris," he breathed, but she just turned her head away. There shouldn't have been anything shocking in it. If she'd carried the baby to term—_that _would have been shocking. Beating the odds. Still, that knowledge didn't make the fact of it any easier. He hadn't really been thinking of it as a child yet, just…possibility. And the loss of that possibility hurt. Seeing the pain on Eris's face hurt.

After a moment of staring at her—her downcast eyes, lines around them, and her hands curled limply together in her lap, and how had he not noticed, her stomach markedly flatter—he moved his chair so that it abutted hers. She flicked her eyes in his direction but didn't look him in the face. An ache expanded in his chest.

Without a word, he sat back down and put an arm around her, drawing her to him gently. Soundlessly, she wrapped her own arms around him and leaned her head against his chest. "I know I shouldn't be so…emotional," she finally said in a quiet, but steady voice. "I know it's normal."

"You're entitled to be as emotional as you want," he replied, bending to kiss her forehead. She made a small noise but didn't say anything else, and for several minutes the two of them sat on the terrace, the light buzzing above them. A night heron rustled by and several blocks away, the metro passed by on its tracks. Eris was tracing patterns on his leg with a finger and he watched her do it. Finally, though, he asked quietly, "Why didn't anyone contact me?"

There was another long silence, but then she said, "I didn't want you there."

"Eris," he sighed, then pressed his lips to her forehead again. "Why not?"

He felt her shrug. "I didn't want you to see me like that."

Reaching up to stroke her ear, he murmured, "Like what?"

She pulled away from him slightly, bracing herself against his chest with her hands and looking into his eyes. "Weak," she told him. "And failing at something." When he opened his mouth to respond, she shook her head. "I know. I wasn't failing. I'm not weak. It happens to eighty-eight percent of women during their first pregnancies." She sighed and leaned against him once more. "But I didn't want anyone to call you." After another pause, she added, "Besides, I wasn't in any danger. And there was nothing you could do."

"That isn't the point," he said. "If—" He'd been about to say _if it happens again _but stopped himself, not wanting to admit that it could, though of course it was possible. Forty-nine percent possible. "I want to know if anything's happening to you," he said instead. "It doesn't matter what it is."

Eris exhaled slowly. "If it happens again," she said deliberately, voicing what he hadn't been able to, "I still won't want you there."

"Eris—"

"Weyoun," she interrupted him, "all it is is blood and painkillers and doctors telling you there's nothing you could have done. That it's just…genetics." Her voice tightened. "They're very good at being sympathetic. Every glance, every inflection—they know exactly what to say and do and just how to look for maximum compassion." Before he could think of the best way to respond, she said, "Why wouldn't they, when this happens to women every single day? They must forget how to act when they actually _deliver _a baby—" A hitch in her voice stopped her. Weyoun didn't say anything, and she took a deep breath before continuing, "You would think someone would have come up with a way to fix this by now."

Knowing that she wasn't looking for a response, he still remained silent. Finally, she shifted, sitting up and looking at him. "We can start trying again in a few weeks," she said. "I have an appointment with the obstetrician at the hospital to clear it."

"That's the last thing I'm thinking of—" he began.

"_I'm _thinking of it," she said fiercely. Then, her expression softening, she added, "I haven't suffered permanent psychological damage and I'm not trying to prove something. I just want to have your baby. It's never going to happen if we don't keep trying."

He exhaled slowly and touched her ear, and for a long moment, he didn't say anything. Then, he asked, "A few weeks?" Eris nodded, and Weyoun sat back, holding her hand loosely in his. Without speaking, the two of them sat in the dark, the quiet sounds of night enveloping them. It would be a long time before they went inside again.


	9. Chapter 8

8

**60,060-60,062 (Kurillian calendar)**

"A skimmer."

"You don't like it?"

Eris, her arms crossed over her chest, leaned against the doorframe, looking out into the garage that, until today, had always been empty. "It's not that I don't _like _it." Casting her eye over the personal, two-seater skimmer that was now sitting, powered down, on the ground, she turned to look at him and asked, "Can you _drive _it?"

"No," Weyoun said brightly. "But how difficult can it be to learn?"

"Hm. Famous last words." She stepped into the garage, peering more closely at the skimmer, her arms still crossed over her chest. "Do we _need _a personal skimmer?"

Weyoun watched her inspection of his purchase, made, even he had to admit, somewhat impulsively. Still, the idea of owning one had appealed to him for awhile. They seemed…well, _fun_. "Need is such a relative term," he said.

"Clearly."

A deep roll of thunder vibrated in the house and Weyoun's bones, and the rain drummed harder on the roof for a moment or two. "We can afford it, if you're concerned about that," he said.

Eris pursed her lips. "I'm aware of the cost of this model of skimmer, and I'm likewise aware of the state of our finances."

"So any objection you have will be of a more personal nature."

"I never said I'm objecting." Eris paused and smiled faintly. "I haven't decided yet. It's just very…extravagant. In more ways than one."

His tone dry, Weyoun remarked, "You'll be amused to know that Leto pointed out that an entire slum neighborhood could eat for a year for the cost of it."

"An exaggeration," Eris replied. "If not by that much." Then, with a shrug, she said, "Well, I certainly won't drive it, but if you will, then I can't see anything wrong with having it. And—by the way, Leto was aware of this development and I wasn't?"

This last part was added teasingly, so Weyoun gave her a half-smile and replied, "Sometimes I run things by her. She normally reacts in exactly the opposite way that you do—it can be most clarifying."

With a snort of amusement, Eris asked, "And how does she feel about this addendum to her duties as your senior aide?"

"She says she uses the same technique and that my likes are an excellent predictor of her girlfriend's aversions."

"That serves you right." She put a hand on the skimmer's raised back and glanced over at him. "You _will _have enough sense not to go to a disreputable holo-arcade program to learn how to drive this?"

With a slight wounded note in his voice, he said, "Eris, I'm eminently sensible." When she just raised an eyebrow, he heaved a long-suffering sigh and replied, "Of course. I'll find a qualified instructor."

"Good," she said. "Considering that we still haven't managed to have that child, I'd like you around for a little longer."

"Even if you may end up with a child genetically predisposed to be a skimmer driver?"

"I'll take my chances." She looked upwards as lightning flickered through the skylight, then moved to stand next to him, slipping an arm around his waist. "Once you learn how to drive it," she said, emphasizing this proviso with a twitch of a smile, "you'll take me for a ride?"

"Nothing would give me greater pleasure."

"You know, if this is a nascent daredevil spirit burgeoning within you, you might find yourself on an orbital if you aren't careful."

"Maybe the mining fleet."

With an amused snort, Eris said, "I can just see it."

Smiling slightly at her, he said, "Well, for the moment, I'm content with two feet on Kurill. We'll see how I feel after I take the skimmer out, though."

She turned and looped her arms around his neck. "You know, there's something appealing about the idea of you piloting an orbital. You might have missed your calling."

That made him chuckle. "I don't think so. I'm well enough suited to manipulating events from the ground, don't you think?"

She kissed him lightly. "Well enough."

* * *

The drive to explore the universe may have been Deimos's and the other astronauts motivation for going into orbit, but pragmatism and economic reality demanded that the pursuit of knowledge give way to the pursuit of natural resources—specifically, establishing mining operations on Kurill's smaller moon, Soura. When it was found that the planetside dilithium seams were even smaller than previously thought, it became imperative to get the facility built, online, and shipping Kurill's main source of energy back to the planet.

It was, to say the least, an expensive project. In addition to the facility itself, new ships would be needed, and eventually the mining fleet consisted of six purpose-built ships. The facility was mostly automated, as mining operations had been on Kurill for centuries, but a few Vorta still needed to be stationed on Soura at the facility, and so what was an expensive lunar mining station became an exorbitant lunar base. The only way to afford it without bankrupting the government was for private companies to invest, and they did—Yelar Industries led the way. There was, of course, opposition to the government's financial contribution within the ranks of the Council, but the specter of energy shortages brought about a majority vote for the funding.

With the money secured, progress was swift on the mining facility. The research and exploration that the orbitals had done, including landing on Soura and Vrilla, was put to good use, and by the time 60,061 began with the Effulgence Festival, it was ready to be put into operation. Most dilithium was coming from Soura by the monsoon, when the specially designed shuttles were able to continue landing through the rain and hail. It was well-timed, because if the new source of dilithium hadn't slowed production down at the planetside mining complexes, the dwindling supply would have—there was no longer enough pure dilithium in any of the known seams to support Kurill's infrastructure.

Weyoun and Eris discovered her second pregnancy in 60,062, in Fourthmonth, which put her due date at the beginning of the monsoon in 60,063. Tests showed her chances of another miscarriage to be lower than the average for second pregnancies—the fact that she'd carried the first fetus so long was a good sign, the obstetrician informed them as he showed them the test results. 'Cautiously optimistic' was the phrase he used, a prevarication, but one that both Weyoun and Eris welcomed, even if neither of them said it at first.

It would, in fact, be several weeks before they brought her pregnancy up at all between themselves, and Weyoun did it without preamble, announcing idly one evening, "I think the baby should have your name even if it's a boy."

"What?" Eris's voice floated in from the other room.

He sat back in the interface chair, finished clearing his personal inbox, and turned, facing her as she came into the living room. "The baby. If it's a boy he should still have your name."

Furrowing her brow, she asked, "Why? What's wrong with _your _name?" When he just raised an eyebrow, she scoffed. "Oh, Weyoun, please. No one cares about the caste you were born into. Your name is just a _name_."

"Then you shouldn't mind our possible son having yours," he replied mildly.

She dropped her shoulders in a sigh and came over to him, putting a hand on the back of the chair. He tilted his head back to gaze up at her and she said, "Of course I don't mind. I just don't like that you're so…sensitive about something that doesn't matter."

"Doesn't it?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "I never really told you what they said about me when Soltoi was trying to get me chased out of the Complex—"

"I saw it," she interrupted gently. "And I knew you didn't want me to, so I never said anything."

He smiled, then chuckled. "Ah, so the foundation of our relationship is built on lies."

"Omissions," she corrected him, a small, crooked smile on her face. She leaned against him and kissed his forehead.

"Hm." He rested the side of his head on her stomach, which hadn't begun to swell yet, and wouldn't for another month or two. "Then you know everything that my name implies about me."

"The people that think it implies anything about you are idiots," she said crisply.

Putting an arm around her waist, he replied, "They may be idiots, but I still don't see any reason to shackle our child with a slum name."

"Weyoun." She leaned backwards so that she could look him in the eye. "You're a senator. _That's _what your name means."

"Your naïvety about caste is one of the reasons I love you so much." When Eris pursed her lips at him, Weyoun grinned and pulled her to him again. She draped her arms around his neck and rested her cheek on his head. "Eris, I treasure your enlightened sensibilities on this, but senator or not, my name means one thing and one thing only to some people: I'm gutter-scum, and I'll always be gutter-scum." He rubbed her back. "Besides, 'Arethon' has a perfectly fine ring to it, doesn't it?"

She made a vague noise and he knew he'd won. "I don't approve of this."

"I know."

"I think you're just feeding into the caste system."

"I know." He took one of her hands in his and kissed her palm. "But thank you for understanding."

With a quiet sniff, she straightened and put a hand on his shoulder. "I don't understand, but I know it means something to you that it doesn't to me."

"That's close enough to understanding for me." A tone sounded on the interface and he got to his feet. "You must have a message. Do you want something to drink?" he asked over his shoulder as he went into the kitchen.

"No, better save what's left of that bottle for tomorrow," she replied as she slid into the chair. "The department meeting's going to be especially tedious."

Pouring himself a glass of water, he chuckled and asked, "And why is that?"

Eris didn't respond, and Weyoun looked at her, about to repeat the question, when he noticed her staring intensely at the interface screen. "This is odd," she said after a minute.

"What?" he asked, rejoining her.

"I can't access the interface." Eris tapped at the keys of the terminal. "At all."

Weyoun stood next to her and cocked his head at the display. Then, pointing towards the top corner of the screen, he said, "The local network's still up, though."

Her eyes flicked to the network indicator. "You're right. That's…strange. I've never seen that happen before."

He reached across her and pulled up the local network information. The signal strength showed as normal, but the connection to one of the higher nodes was broken. There was no way to tell which one, or where the problem was. "I've never seen the interface go down," he said, baffled, still not quite believing that it had. "Not even during the monsoon."

Neither of them moved or spoke for a moment, and then, restlessly, Eris got to her feet and went to the window. It was open, the house flooded with the scent of _damas _blossoms, but Weyoun didn't think that was the reason she was waiting there. Several minutes passed, but when nothing happened, her shoulders tensed. She'd been waiting, he knew, for the faint whooshing sound of a train passing by, its sound funneled upwards through trees and along pathways. There was never more than a thirteen minute delay between them; and the sound of their passing was something any Vorta living within earshot of them became accustomed to, enough for both of them to know that it was past time for one to have gone by. "I don't think the metro's running," she said.

The metro depended on the interface for most of its operation—timetables, arrivals and departures, track changes—all of it was networked, just like almost everything on Kurill. They depended on their communications grid maybe more than anything else on their world. "So now we're hoping that this outage isn't catastrophic," Weyoun murmured. Then, with a sinking feeling, he added, "Which, if Ground Control is affected, it could be." The thought of the orbitals and the dilithium shuttles being cut off was…alarming.

"Ground Control has an internal network," Eris pointed out.

Putting his hands on the back of the chair and staring at the screen, where that indicator blinked no signal, Weyoun said, "And their own servers. But with a wide enough outage, that wouldn't matter." He turned to look at her. "And there's no way to know with the interface down."

Eris raised an eyebrow. "You could take the skimmer to Ground Control."

His lips thinned at the idea. "Every traffic signal and metro crossing will be out between here and there if the problem is widespread," he said. "It will be chaos on the roads."

Her expression didn't change. "Then make sure to wear the seat restraints."

He hesitated for a moment, trying to make up his mind. Since escaping from the slums, he'd never been disconnected from the interface—and even gutter-scum had access to it, if not all the time. But for anyone of a higher caste than the poorest of the poor, the interface was like an extension of oneself, a way to stay constantly in connection with the world. Of course anyone could choose to ignore their interface calls and messages, but in the end there remained the basic fact of that choice, and that one could reconnect at any time. The absence of that fact was becoming more and more overwhelming. "I'm not sure how I feel about leaving you here with no way for us to contact each other," he finally said.

"Weyoun." She crossed her arms over her chest. "What could possibly happen to me? _You _had better be careful, though." There was just enough concern in her eyes that he could tell that she didn't particularly want him to leave. But she also knew him well enough to realize that if she hadn't suggested he go, then he would have suggested it himself.

With another glance at the network indicator, he made up his mind. "I'll be back as soon as I can," he said, kissing her quickly. She just pursed her lips in a wry smile and turned back to the window as he left.

* * *

The reception desk at Ground Control was abandoned, and so after standing there for a moment, Weyoun set his mouth in a line, exhaled sharply, and ducked around the desk into the facility's main hallway.

The ambient noise level rocketed. Ground Control staff were hurrying down the hall, in and out of offices, and slamming doors. He avoided colliding with anyone and got to Deimos's office door just as Deimos himself opened it. For a second, the other man stared, but then he grabbed Weyoun's arm and bodily hauled him into the room, slamming the door shut. "Weyoun, I am not in the mood for any political grandstanding, so if that's why you're here—"

"What's going on?" Weyoun interrupted. The idea of grandstanding had fleetingly occurred to him until he'd seen the extent of the problem during the drive to Ground Control. Tira City was irrefutably disconnected from the interface for the first time in living memory. And if Tira City was disconnected, that likely meant that other cities were as well, not to mention the exurbs and the hinterlands. Ironically, of course, there was no way to know. With the interface down, there was no way to contact anyone.

The harried expression on Deimos's face only increased, and with an out-of-character expletive, he whirled, threw the door open, and stalked into the corridor. Weyoun took that as an invitation to follow him.

As they made their way down the hallway, Ground Control staff rushing around them, Deimos said in a quick, tight voice, "It's a disaster. We've completely lost contact with the orbitals up there."

"And the mining fleet?" Weyoun asked.

"The same. We had three ships en route, two inbound and one outbound, and we have no idea if the mining facility's still transmitting for the latter to dock there." Deimos reached a door and flung it open, bringing Weyoun into the control room itself. If it had been chaotic outside, then it was sheer bedlam inside. Panicked Vorta were shouting back and forth to each other across the room, running to different interface consoles and sometimes trying to man two or three at once. It didn't seem to affect Deimos, who kept striding forward, continuing in the same tone, "But we don't think the Soura facility _is _transmitting."

"And what makes you say that?" Weyoun asked as the two of them reached a console, which was occupied by a young man who looked just as frantic as everyone else.

Instead of answering, Deimos grabbed the young man's shoulder and said, "Seleth, what's the status on the servers?"

Seleth jumped at the contact, as though he hadn't realized anyone was there. Then, gaining a modicum of composure, he answered, "The same. Receiving—if there was anything to receive. It's like something hit all our relay satellites at once."

The idea turned Weyoun cold, and Deimos hissed, "Don't speculate about that if you can't back it up with any evidence." Duly chastised, Seleth clamped his mouth shut, and Deimos said, "Check them again. Make absolutely sure there's nothing wrong with them." The other man nodded swiftly and hurried off, and Deimos took over the console that he'd been using. His fingers flickered across the keyboard and Weyoun watched as several graphs popped up.

"What makes me say that," Deimos said, finally addressing Weyoun's question, "is that we haven't heard from Soura Mining Station in two days." He stared at the graphs but offered no explanation of what they were, so Weyoun peered more closely at them. They appeared to be a record of the communications between Ground Control and Soura Station. The top one continued until flat-lining at a timestamp about an hour and a half earlier, clearly when Tira City had gone off the communications grid. The bottom showed a similar pattern but flat-lined, as Deimos had said, two days earlier. "I've been staring at this and every other data aggregation we have for the comm ever since it happened and I don't see anything that could have caused it. No power spike, no comm spike, nothing wrong in our servers and nothing wrong in theirs until they stopped pinging back."

"So it _does_ look like something took out the communications array," Weyoun said in a low tone.

Deimos turned to look at him. "But there's nothing that could take down the array," he said, sounding, for the first time that Weyoun could ever remember, desperate. "This is what we do. We _watch _these things. There are no solar storms, no solar flares, no solar wind, no ion storms, no meteor showers—as far as our intraorbital space with Soura's concerned, it's a clear, sunny day. Height of the dry season. There is literally nothing out there that could damage the communications satellite array."

"Then why," Weyoun asked bluntly, "is the communications grid down?"

Propping his elbows on the console and covering his face with his hands, Deimos said, "I don't know. I don't know, I'm not trained to know, and I have no way to get in contact with the people who _do _know. Not until the backup comm comes online and that could be hours or days or weeks for all I know."

"And in the meantime," Weyoun said, "there are three ships up there that can't land."

Deimos dropped his forearm down to the console and looked up at Weyoun. "Oh, they can land," he said. "They just have to do it without any uplink with us." He drew a deep breath and went on, almost to himself, "But it's not as though they're flying completely blind. All their sensors will still function."

"Deimos," Weyoun said, a note of urgency creeping into his tone, "we need those dilithium shipments to get through."

"The terrestrial facilities will have to be brought back up to full capacity," Deimos replied absently.

"If they can be. And there's no guarantee of that. In fact I think it's rather unlikely."

With an exasperated sigh, Deimos snapped, "_Dilithium_. I've got people up there and you're worried about dilithium."

Weyoun leaned closer to him and hissed, "For once in your life look past your academic shortsightedness. If those dilithium shipments don't get through, we're going to have power shortages. You know as well as I do that at this point we can't possibly mine and process enough of it to keep our infrastructure running."

A series of emotions flickered across Deimos's face, only one of them a quick anger. "I see your point," he said in a low tone. "But my first concern is my astronauts and their safety." He drew in a deep breath. "I can probably get a probe into orbit to check the status of the satellite array by tomorrow, but even in the best case scenario, the interface won't be restored for weeks while the probe makes its way around to all the satellites."

"You think it's that serious?" Weyoun asked quietly. The look on Deimos's face was affirmation enough, and Weyoun exhaled. "And what's the worst case scenario?"

After a long hesitation, Deimos said, "The worst case scenario is that the entire array needs to be replaced. And in that event, we'll be using the shoddy backup comm for months." He tilted his head down and pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers before glancing up at Weyoun. "Is your house even wired?"

That was an excellent question. "I think so," he said, without much conviction.

"You'll find out soon enough." Deimos straightened up, reining in his weariness. The overwhelmed air that he'd been radiating went with it. "I'll do my best to make sure that dilithium shipments keep getting through. But without interface we can't run the fleet at full capacity. And I won't send anyone up there if there's any risk to their lives."

For a moment, Weyoun thought about arguing with him, but right now, his gut told him that he'd gotten as much of a guarantee as he was going to out of Deimos. "You'll let me know what's happening if you're able to?"

"No guarantees," Deimos replied. Then, he said, "I'd like to think you came here out of genuine concern. But you're just worried about political fallout, aren't you?"

Weyoun considered, briefly, allowing an expression of insincere hurt to slip across his face, but then reminded himself that this was Deimos. "Can't it be both?" he asked, and Deimos just waved the response away. With a last look around the chaos of the control room, he said, "I'm sure you'll find a way to get in touch with me." Then, without another word, he strode from Ground Control and back to his skimmer, preparing himself for the perilous drive home. He had a nasty feeling that it was metaphor—and insufficient metaphor at that—for the coming days.

* * *

Weyoun tossed the padd onto his desk, kneading his temple with one hand and staring at Kilana. "You know all of this is accurate?" he asked, flicking his eyes towards the padd.

"My media contacts seemed quite convinced." Kilana crossed her arms over her chest and glanced over at Leto, who was standing thoughtfully at the window, staring into the distance. "This is the information they've been given, in any case, and this is the information they'll release unless presented with something better."

Leto snorted without looking around. "Soltoi thinks that the way to stop energy shortage riots is to put a stop to the main shipments of dilithium—the disruption of which, of course, is what caused the shortages in the first place. Typical."

"Soltoi doesn't care about stopping riots," Kilana said, curling her lip. "She only cares that she lost face when Soura Station got funded."

"Personally, I think she hates that her friends over at Yelar funded so much of the project," Leto remarked. "She's become the quintessential sequestrist and yet her biggest ally in the private sector is dumping money into space exploration." After a pause, she added, "Or rather, space exploitation."

It was a week after the loss of the interface. The backup communications system had stuttered to life two days after it had gone down, and Tira City had slowly starting to function again. The city center was entirely wired to the backup system and there, at least, life returned more or less to normal. Communication with the rest of the planet was passable—bandwidth was limited on the backup system, but for most Vorta's purposes, it functioned.

Then the power started going out.

It was just in the Tira City slums at the moment—a conscious choice on the part of the power companies, who had felt that they'd face the least amount of backlash by blacking out the most destitute of Tira's residents. They were wrong, and the protests, and then riots, had begun almost immediately, and were only escalating as time went on.

"Unfortunately," Weyoun spoke up, causing both of his employees to look towards him, "those dilithium shipments aren't going to come from anywhere else. And if we disrupt the launch schedule we're going to be facing more than blackouts in Tira City slums. Pegrill, Dala, Dessa Center, Lora, Galata, the rest of Tira City—_that's _where the blackouts are going to hurt."

"It's going to hurt people like us," Kilana said. "It's not going to hurt Soltoi and her cronies. That compound that she calls a house probably has enough generators to power it for a year if the electric grid goes down."

"Luckily we have some time before we lose the entire grid," Weyoun said. "But we'll have to legislate rolling blackouts and no one wants to force that on their constituents."

Leto finally turned around. "Are you planning on supporting that measure?"

"There isn't much else I can do if I want to deal with the long term issues," he said heavily. "And debating Soltoi on those is a given. If she's really going to advocate moving back to terrestrial sources of dilithium, then she needs to be stopped."

The three of them lapsed into silence for several minutes, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally, though, Leto put her hands on her hips and looked at him directly. "Soltoi's right about one thing, though," she said, a certain indignation in her eyes that Weyoun had come to recognize over the years. "It's not an acceptable solution to cut power to the slums to conserve it for everyone else."

"Who do you think should make that noble sacrifice instead? Anyway, the rest of us will be there before long," Weyoun said, steepling his fingers on the desk.

"Yes, but that will be _months_," Leto insisted. "And in the meantime, people two kilometers away are living in the dark ages."

There was a time that Weyoun would have sniped that gutter-scum didn't live much better than that under normal circumstances, but now he didn't. "Soltoi may be right on that count," he said carefully, "even if she's only saying it as populist pandering. But what this situation underscores is that we need a hardier mining fleet, and preferably more than one source of dilithium. It was clearly a mistake to have only one main source of it."

"Isn't Senator Parnon working on legislation that says as much?" Kilana asked.

Weyoun stared at his hands, answering without looking at her, "Yes, legislation that no one but our senior aides is supposed to know about. I know," he added when she opened her mouth to respond. "You have your sources."

"I wouldn't be much of a publicity staffer if I didn't," she said with a faint smile.

There was an expression of intense thoughtfulness on Leto's face, and she chewed at her thumbnail during this exchange. "I think we need to expedite it," she said suddenly. "Beat Soltoi at her own game. We can pander just as well as she can."

"And we have a just cause," Kilana added with sarcastic grandiosity.

Weyoun glanced up, smiling slightly at Kilana, but looking towards Leto. "I think you're right. If we're going to convince people that sequestrism isn't the answer, then we need to provide them with a worthwhile alternative."

"Extraplanetary travel," Leto said.

"Exactly."

No one said another word for a long moment, but finally, Weyoun got decisively to his feet. "Kilana—your friends in the press."

"Are always delighted to hear from me," she finished for him, flipping her hair over her shoulder in mockery of the coquettishness she used to great effect in her work. "Even more so when I have exciting news about legislation that affects the future of our entire planet."

He couldn't help grinning at her before saying, "Leto, build the case. You know what the challenges will be." Leto nodded briskly and he added, "I'll see Foros today. With any luck, the riots will get better and we'll be able to concentrate on writing legislation."

Leto glanced over her shoulder at the window again and Weyoun followed her gaze. The office faced out towards Kiyu, and a few threads of smoke were visible, rising from cooking fires. "We'll need electricity for that," she said. "And right now, that's something that no one can legislate."

* * *

The riots didn't get better. They got much, much worse, spreading from the worst of the slums to districts like Kiyu, those borderlands between the gutter and respectability. Fires were started, both by Vorta innocently trying to replace their disrupted power supply with some form of light and heat, and by arsonists, and entire neighborhoods were consumed. The governor of Tira Exarchate set up emergency shelters which were flooded with displaced people from the affected districts. Hospitals were overwhelmed by injuries—blunt trauma, lacerations, even stab wounds, as the violence escalated. There wasn't an official death toll, mostly because it was difficult to separate deaths caused by the rioting from typical slum mortality rates, but no one really doubted that people were dying.

Weyoun, when he was home, found himself developing a marked propensity for sleeplessness. He was not, by nature, a restless man, and so he would lie in bed in the darkness, trying to force himself to listen to Eris's slow breathing, but more often than not unable to hear it for the whirl of thoughts in his head. The Council was gridlocked by arguments on how to deal with the riots, how to handle the dilithium supply, how to keep the planet running effectively on the back-up comm grid for the long-term. He'd assumed his stillness would allow her to sleep undisturbed, but maybe the opposite happened—in any case, one night, her voice startled him in the darkness, as she murmured, "The riots are getting out of control."

For a long moment, he didn't say anything, debating whether or not to pretend he was asleep; loathe to talk about the subject that had been plaguing his days. But she wouldn't be fooled, and so finally, he rolled over to face her, and another problem that had been gnawing at him—her current excavation, and its proximity to the epicenter of the rioting. "Have you thought about pulling out of your site until all of this is over?" he asked, already hearing resignation in his tone.

"No," she answered promptly.

The response didn't surprise him. She'd never voluntarily leave, not even when her safety was in question. He couldn't tell if that sort of stubbornness was bravery or just bravado. "You may not have a choice if things get worse."

"I'll leave if and when the police order me to," she said. "Not before."

"And if the Council orders you to?" he asked.

She raised an eyebrow meaningfully. "Oh, I don't think the Council will do that."

"The Council might have special orders for the police," he muttered.

"Don't you dare," she said lightly. An undercurrent of steely hardness was audible. "I don't interfere with your work, and I don't want you using your political clout to interfere in mine. The university will decide when the situation is too dangerous, and I'll leave then. Not before."

At least she was relenting enough to take orders from Tira University. Still, he scoffed quietly and mumbled, "Yes, because your typical academic is really the best judge of a deteriorating situation."

"I'm sorry?" she said, though her tone made it clear that she'd heard him perfectly.

With a sigh, which he tried to keep his frustration out of, he said, "Nothing. I won't interfere." He could feel her stillness and see the sharpness of her gaze, so he smiled and reached out to touch her under the blanket. "You have my word."

Whether it was that or his hand on her hip, he felt the stiffness go out of her body, and after a minute, she said, "I won't put myself in any danger. You have _my _word on that." Then, she put her hand on top of his and asked, "Is the Council planning on _doing _anything? At the risk of sounding critical, I must say that it seems to be more interested in talking than doing anything else."

He hesitated for a moment, seeing no need to contradict her observation. "The prevailing opinion—which no one says out loud—is that we should let all the slums burn to the ground."

Moonlight from the open-curtained windows caught her eyes. "You're exaggerating."

He sniffed. "Only slightly."

"I hope that if anyone ever _does _suggest something so atrocious that you'll be the voice of reason."

"Rather than allow my natural inclinations free rein, you mean." When she didn't respond, he sighed a little and said, "Even _my _cruelty knows some limitations."

"You've displaced people before."

"For civic improvement. Besides, that wasn't Kiyu. I'm not so blinded by my hatred of the slums that I'd encourage razing _Kiyu_."

"Yes, it was almost getting to be respectable before the riots." She smiled wanly and slid a hand absently up his arm. "There was a time when I think you _would _have encouraged razing Kiyu."

True. Even if he'd never said it. "Everyone changes. I think I'm allowed that adage, as well?" When she raised an eyebrow, he looked away from her briefly, then said, "The Council is debating giving the police more military powers."

At that, Eris looked surprised, as he'd known she would. "There hasn't been a military on Kurill for four hundred years," she said.

"I know. And there still won't be a military. But police methods are proving to be…inadequate. They need more powers." He paused. "We have to be realistic—if these shortages continue, so will the riots. And not just here, all across Kurill."

"The shortages _will _continue." She looked at him hard. "That's the Council's opinion, isn't it?"

"The Council's, the science lobby's, all of our consultants—I'm afraid so." Reaching for her hand, he said, "This entire incident just proves that we need more than one source of dilithium. If Foros and I could only get the votes we need to authorize extraplanetary travel, we wouldn't have to deal with this anymore. There's dilithium all over half the satellite bodies in the solar system, and with a self-sufficient fleet—which it would have to be over those distances—situations like this could be avoided."

"One would almost think you arranged the riots to get those votes."

With a sardonic smile, he said, "I wish I had that kind of influence."

Eris raised her eyebrows. "Do you?"

"Of course. Unfortunately my ability to manipulate events doesn't extend nearly to the scale of what's going on in Kiyu."

"No, I don't suppose most people's does." She studied him for a moment, then leaned forward and kissed him gently. "Still ambitious," she said quietly, smoothing his hair over his ears. "And I still love that about you."

"Good, because it isn't likely to change." With another deep sigh, he said, "I suppose knowing what to do is half the battle. Now all we need to do is pass the legislation, secure funding, build the orbitals, and find someone insane enough to get into something that travels faster than any Vorta has ever imagined, millions of kilometers from Kurill."

"Most of that is your standard fare. And as for the last part, that shouldn't be a problem—you already know him."

Weyoun looked at her. The riots had frayed his nerves and concentration so much that he was missing what was right in front of his nose. Thank the Founders his wife was more clear-headed. Letting a breath of air out slowly through his nose, he said, "You're right. He even _told _me he wanted to be on the first ship to leave Kurill orbit."

With a slight smile, Eris kissed his cheek and pulled the blanket up to her chin. "Now that I've solved that problem for you," she said, yawning, "maybe you can finally go to sleep."

He closed his eyes, doubting it, and rolled onto his back. Only Eris, moving to lie against him, her warmth pressed to him down the length of his body, made him relax enough to make sleep a real possibility.

* * *

"Prescient of you to invite me here," Deimos said when Weyoun contacted him a few days later and he subsequently made the trip from Ground Control to the Complex. "I was planning on coming to see you today anyway."

"Prescience had nothing to do with it," Weyoun replied, gesturing towards a chair. "Sit down."

Deimos did so, saying, "Before we discuss whatever imperative thing it is that you asked to see me about, I have news for you. Good or bad first?" Judging by the expression on his face, even the good news wasn't all that good. Weyoun chose it, nonetheless, and Deimos went on, "We know what took out the communications array." In the days since the loss of the interface, various agencies had ascertained that the problem wasn't planetside and had assumed that the issue instead lay with the constellation of communications satellites orbiting Kurill. They wouldn't know for certain until the unmanned probe transmitted its data back to Ground Control.

"And that's the bad news?" Weyoun guessed.

"No." Deimos took a seat and crossed his legs, leaning back in the chair as he did so. "The bad news is that the entire array needs to be replaced."

Weyoun confined his reaction to a tightening across his forehead and a frustrated twitch near his mouth. "And how, good or bad, would you characterize whatever catastrophe destroyed our communications grid?"

"Well, that's a bit more complicated." Deimos stared across the room for a moment, his eyes looking through Weyoun rather than at him. "The transmission board in every satellite was fried by an EM pulse."

For a long moment, Weyoun just stared at him. Then, he said in an intense tone, "We have a very angry public preparing itself to spill out of the slums and begin rioting in Tir and Hellad. Stop being coy. _What _caused the EM pulse that took down the communications array, and how do we prevent it from happening ever again?"

Unruffled by Weyoun's tone, Deimos said, "That's the bit that's slightly more complicated."

"Deimos," Weyoun said warningly.

The other man looked as though he was enjoying himself. "So," he said, "what causes an electromagnetic pulse? There are two possibilities: a massive fluctuation in the electromagnetic field of Kurill or some nearby cosmic body. Or a weapon."

"It wasn't Kurill's electromagnetic field that fluctuated or there would have been other signs," Weyoun said. "And Soura and Vrilla's are negligible. So—"

"I didn't say I thought it was an EM field fluctuation," Deimos interrupted calmly. "I said that was a possibility. A possibility, as it turns out, that we can dismiss, because the instruments that are still functioning up in orbit didn't record anything of the sort—not, obviously, on Kurill, not on Vrilla or Soura, not from the sun, and not from any planet in the system."

Staring at the other man, Weyoun said, hardly believing the words were coming out of his mouth, "Then—you're saying it was a weapon? That this was some kind of…attack?"

"I don't know if it was an attack," Deimos replied. "I can't say why the pulse was fired. But electromagnetic pulses are definitely a result of explosives detonations. Or," he mused suddenly, "I suppose…the pulse itself could be the weapon. Since we also haven't detected any explosions, that seems the likelier possibility."

Weyoun continued staring, unblinkingly, at Deimos. "You're actually telling me that you think that someone or some_thing _is up there, firing EM pulses at our planet—"

"Not at our planet," Deimos interrupted calmly, "at our communications array."

"I fail to see that it makes much difference which it was," Weyoun snapped. "Are you certain about this? You're talking about hostile alien contact, from a—a _race _that we haven't actually _made _contact with."

"A scientist is never certain," Deimos replied. "But personally, I'm somewhat alarmed by this development. Take that how you will."

Weyoun couldn't help laughing mirthlessly. "If you don't mind my saying, you don't seem particularly alarmed."

Deimos grinned, a rare hint of sheepishness in it. "I'm also an astronomer. The idea of alien contact—even hostile alien contact—has a certain allure to it."

Furrowing his brow, Weyoun said, "This could start a panic. And with the state of Tira City's slums at the moment, that's the last thing we need."

At this, Deimos's mien became completely serious. "I know. I'm controlling who has access to the data—and I trust the people that do not to say anything. I'd like to believe that whoever's up there isn't hostile. But—do you remember, years ago, I told you I'd been looking over some readings that seemed to show something invisible orbiting Kurill?"

Weyoun was about to answer in the negative. Deimos had told him many things over the years, far too many pieces of minutiae, trivia, and unsynthesized data for him to possibly remember the vast majority of it. But then, he realized, he _did _remember—it had been the day before Eris had returned from Dala, the day before he had asked her to marry him. "Yes," he finally answered. "You thought it might be the Founders."

With a nod, Deimos said, "I did then. Now I don't know…but it could be whoever fired the EM pulse."

"You think they're invisible now, too?"

"They were then. Why can't they be now? Clearly their technology vastly outstrips our own. I don't think it's so farfetched to imagine that a race of aliens that can cross interstellar distances can also cloak their ships from view."

His brow still furrowed, Weyoun said, "No. I suppose it isn't." Deimos, mercifully, allowed him to think for a moment. Then, slowly, he said, "Whoever fired the pulse must not have known about our backup communications system."

Deimos opened his mouth slightly, then closed it, looking uncertain. Finally, he said, "Or they did, and they also knew that it didn't matter."

"How so?" Weyoun asked. "We're functioning more or less the way we're used to."

"True. The backup system, despite being somewhat outdated, does the job that most people require of it. But there _is _one thing that the backup can't do that the main system can."

"And that is?"

"It can't transmit long-wave radio signals." When Weyoun had no reaction to this, Deimos sighed and said, "We can't send a distress signal. Like that one we picked up several years ago? We can't even send something that badly garbled and useless out into the cosmos."

There was a long silence then, and when it was broken by the ping of the internal interface, Weyoun was actually startled. "Yes?" he asked, depressing the button on the interface.

"_Senator Tourlon is here to see you,_" his personal assistant said crisply.

Weyoun put a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes briefly, saying with a sigh, "That's right, I told Tourlon I'd meet with him today." Pushing the button on the interface again, he said into it, "Tell him I'll be with him in a moment."

Deimos looked vaguely sympathetic, and, raising an eyebrow, he asked, "Anyway, what did you want to see me about?"

"Well." Weyoun sat back in his chair, feeling slightly breathless from the conversation that the two of them had just had. "I was going to ask you how you feel about manning the first extraorbital ship, but now doesn't seem like the best time."

However, a child-like delight lit Deimos's face, and he said, "I've been waiting for your legislation to go before the Council. If you're asking me you must think no one else will do it."

"I'd like to have a name attached to the project, actually." Weyoun smiled, a genuine smile, for all that it was tinged with the weariness of the past several weeks. "It helps make everyone look more on top of things. Which, if you've kept developing those plans of yours, is the case anyway."

"All we need to do is build the orbitals," Deimos replied with relish. "I've tested most of the designs in the lab at Ground Control."

"I hope they scale up."

"I do too, for my own sake." Suddenly, Deimos laughed. "If you get that legislation passed, Weyoun, you and Foros will be changing Vorta history. We won't have to be blind in our own solar system. _We _can be the ones visiting other planets—"

"And destroying their communications arrays?" Weyoun asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Well, I didn't have quite such a martial visit in mind." Deimos almost looked transported by his excitement. "Just think of it—we've been using dilithium to provide electricity and fuel, but I've gotten a look at some of Yelar's research and they've been pursuing some amazing ideas—faster than light travel, for one thing; it looks theoretically possible with dilithium, not that these next generation orbitals will be using anything close to that technology—"

Given the opportunity, Deimos could rhapsodize about this type of thing for quite some time, and so Weyoun, with a certain fond amusement, interrupted, "So you'll do it, then."

"Didn't I say that?" Deimos stood, the same excitement on his face that had been there the day before he'd gone into orbit for the first time. More, perhaps. "I'm your man," he added, grinning irrepressibly.

"The only man insane enough to get into something that travels faster than any Vorta has ever imagined, millions of kilometers from Kurill, was, I believe, the way I first put it," Weyoun mused.

"Accurate," Deimos said. "Put it on my grave marker if I don't make it back." Before Weyoun had a chance to respond with anything besides a roll of his eyes, Deimos said, "I should let you meet with Tourlon. We'll be in touch about these events of great magnitude that seem to be sweeping us in their path."

At the time, the comment felt vaguely inaccurate; an inaccurate label, at least, to encompass everything that was happening on Kurill. He let it go without comment, however, bid Deimos adieu with a quick nod, and tried to clear his head of the previous discussion for his meeting with his fellow senator.

* * *

If things were bad in Tira City, then the silver lining was that at least, in the next several weeks, Weyoun and Foros's co-authored legislation regarding extraorbital dilithium mining passed. It wasn't a fix for the riots, which continued unabated—though happily, they remained confined to the slums and didn't spill out into the rest of the city—but it was a psychological salve for everyone else, all the Vorta who had been worried that they'd be lighting their homes with candles and cooking on open fires if the energy shortage wasn't resolved.

Of course, the legislation did nothing to resolve the energy crisis in the short term. Only the reestablishment of the mining fleet's shipping routes could do that. A coalition of senators rammed that legislation through as well, with a divided science lobby bickering over whether it was the right thing to do or not (Deimos's successor to the head of the lobby's astronomy division didn't always get along with Ground Control, let alone the Council. She had implied, on more than one occasion, that Deimos had been far too cozy with too many senators). Communication was still patchy with the fleet, but Weyoun (and his allies in the Council), when it came right down to it, was willing to risk the lives of the small crews of those ships if it meant restoring power and order to Kurill.

Only that quieted the Kiyu riots. When the streets were finally cleared, Kiyu didn't look like the same place. Whole streets were nothing more than burned out, blackened husks of buildings. Alleys were filled with rubble where the fire-weakened structures had given out and collapsed.

Tira Exarchate's senators and governor toured the area one day once it had been deemed safe—a goodwill tour, a show of strength in a troubling time. The governor was a cheerful man, which was probably what had gotten him elected for his three terms, even if he wasn't quite in line with Tira's senators when it came to his intellectual prowess. He'd always liked Weyoun, and Weyoun, if he didn't quite share the sentiment, was certainly willing to use it to his advantage.

But even he was somber as the four of them, each accompanied by their senior aides, as well as a small escort of armed police officers and, of course, media, picked their way through the street. As they passed, a few Vorta opened the doors of the buildings lining the street, staring out at the group with, at best, wary curiosity, but more often listless resignation. No one stepped out into the street—there was no attempt to engage them, and not, from the looks of things, much interest in the idea.

"You'd think we could have stopped this sooner," Foros said sadly, surveying the deserted street. A few small, isolated oil fires still burned, and about fifty meters away, a woman with two small children clinging to her crouched over one, cooking something that smoked almost as much as the fire itself did. "And we still haven't managed to restore power to everyone."

Leto, walking at Weyoun's side, made a noise and opened her mouth slightly, then glanced at Soltoi and closed it. Under normal circumstances she'd never have hesitated to say anything to Foros or Weyoun, but between the governor, Soltoi, and Loura Thelesoi, she'd taken on a more reserved character. Weyoun raised his eyebrows at her, and she took that as an invitation to speak. "So many people have lost their homes, Senator," she said, using Foros's title in deference to the fact that the governor and Soltoi were present. "There might not be any place to restore power _to_."

Soltoi gave Weyoun a derisive look, clearly trying to castigate him for allowing his senior aide to address another senator in this type of setting, before saying bitingly, "And yet instead of trying to _end _the riots, Foros, you were focusing on the dubious goal of sending an orbital into deep space."

"Now, Ara, we're here as a show of support to a devastated area of our exarchate and our city," Foros said mildly. "Let's rise above our differences."

Weyoun cast his eyes over the slum street. It felt odd to be back in a place he hadn't set foot for decades, but it was made less so by the fact that, in its devastated state, Kiyu bore little resemblance even to the ruinous destitution he'd been raised in. "I doubt you'll find it of such dubious value if it prevents a repeat of something like this in the future," Weyoun said, finally turning to meet Soltoi's eyes, and willing to say it if Foros wasn't.

"An impressively specious argument," Soltoi sniffed.

The governor seemed utterly oblivious to the rancorous exchange. "We failed in our duty to these people," he said slowly and feelingly, as though he was the first to utter such a trite platitude. Turning in a slow circle to take in the small crowd of onlookers that they'd amassed, he continued in a voice dripping with insincere pathos, "These people—these bereft, beleaguered people—put their trust in us when they elected us to our positions. We broke faith with them, gentlemen. And woman," he added quickly.

"I think," Foros said, "that I can speak for both of my colleagues when I say that we've been tormented by the very same thought for weeks."

Soltoi smoothed her expression to one of empathetic sadness. "The Council, our staffs, and my fellow senators' families, I'm certain, can attest that we've devoted ourselves to a resolution to these riots. If we didn't do enough, and we clearly didn't, then we must work twice as hard to prevent something like this in the future."

The governor turned so that the present media would be sure to receive the full effect of his grief. "I am willing to pledge, here and now, to devote myself to improving the plight of the people of Kiyu and all its surrounding districts. They don't deserve to have their homes destroyed simply because they were unfortunate enough to be born into Kurill's lowest castes!"

"Speaking of specious arguments," Weyoun muttered, too low for the media's 'coder pickups but loudly enough for his fellow senators to hear him. Soltoi met his eyes in a rare moment of camaraderie.

"Accountability!" the governor had meanwhile gone on. "Our people will hold us accountable if we don't uphold our promises to them!"

He went on in this vein, and similar ones, for several more minutes, and then each of Tira Exarchate's senators gave remarks that had been prepared in advance. By the time they were all finished speaking, a small crowd had gathered, though nothing that they said cracked the emotionless mask that every single gutter-scum denizen wore.

When the 'coders had been turned off and their troupe of politicians, aides, police, and media had turned to leave, Weyoun found himself walking next to the governor. On a whim, Weyoun remarked lightly to the other man, "You know, Governor, I think you're right that we're going to be held accountable for this."

"Well, Foros's magic for getting the lower castes to turn out at the voting plazas notwithstanding, none of them really vote enough to hold us accountable." He shrugged. "Sad but true—but everyone needed to hear otherwise."

Weyoun echoed the shrug with one of his own. "Or the need to feel at least marginally protected from barbarism may galvanize the lower castes to oust one of us—or all of us."

With a laugh, the governor said, "I had no idea you had such a pessimistic streak, Weyoun!"

"It surfaces from time to time." Smiling thinly before going to join Foros, he added, "Consider it intuition, Governor. There will be more lasting repercussions to this than simply clearing rubble from the streets."

The governor still looked more amused than anything else, and Weyoun had more important things to do than try to make him notice his own shortsightedness.

Still, that afternoon, after he'd gone home early for the day, the moment came back to him as Eris asked, "How did the 'goodwill tour' go?"

He slouched into the more comfortable of their two living room chairs and noted the one upturned corner of her lips—not that it surprised him that she didn't take the whole production entirely seriously. "The way you would imagine it going," he answered. "Soltoi can barely contain her loathing for Foros and me—and the feeling's quite mutual—and all three of us think the governor is a buffoon. A good-natured buffoon, but—nevertheless."

She smiled. "And Soltoi sniped, Foros was somehow beneficent and contemptuous at the same time—"

"One of the most useful skills he's taught me," Weyoun mused.

Still smiling with arch amusement, she went on in a thoughtful tone, "And you…what did you do?"

Raising his eyebrows at her, he said, "Surely you know me well enough to hazard a guess."

She perched lightly on the arm of the chair and gazed down at him. "All right. You were diplomatic, smiled effusively, and made people wonder just how sincere your earnest sincerity actually was."

With a chuckle, he said, "Always your eloquence."

She brushed a hand across his shoulder. "You're the eloquent one, you only notice it in me when I hit upon a particularly delicious turn of phrase."

He took her hand and kissed it with a certain touch of gallantry. "My dear, your eloquence is peerless."

She laughed, a rich, pure sound, and leaned forward to kiss him.

Suddenly, a low rumble shuddered through the house and the two of them drew apart in surprise. Eris got to her feet, looking towards the kitchen, where two half-finished bottles of wine were rattling against each other in their carafe. There was an alarmed look on her face as she said, "An earthquake?"

Having only felt a small one once, and many years ago, Weyoun wasn't sure, and was about to say as much when the room grew dark, as though something had snuffed out the sun. He stood up and watched as she went to the window, still feeling the same deep shudder through the whole house. It was that, and a building sound at such a low frequency that it was almost painful, that made him shake his head in response to her question.

Eris didn't see him, though, because she was standing at the window, her fingers clenched around the sill and her shoulders tensed. "I think you'd better come look at this," she said in a calm tone that was clear charade.

At that moment, an ear-splitting sound cracked through the air outside, making both of them flinch. Needing no more urging than that, Weyoun joined her at the window.

Thick white clouds, flickering as though with lightning or flame, swirled across the sky, blocking the sun and turning the day dark but for the unearthly flashing. Neither of them bothered to point out the obvious fact that it couldn't be the monsoon—not a month early, and not accompanied by earth-shaking booms. Dishes rattled in the cupboards and outside, birds took to the air, darting around the house in a raucous, panicked flock. A herd of small deer flitted through the yard like shadows.

"It sounds like an orbital launch," she said in the same steady tone.

He shook his head slowly. "That's no orbital launch."

Neither of them took their eyes from the roiling clouds, even as the flashing intensified. Weyoun's eyes began to water and he realized he wasn't blinking—but if he had blinked than he may have missed the way the…the…_shuttle_, there was no other word for it, emerged from the mass of clouds, light flickering all around it and strands of cloud—_superheated gases from its entry into the atmosphere_, a small voice whispered in his head—wreathing and twining it. He heard Eris's sharp intake of breath beside him but he couldn't stop staring at what was in the sky.

It was about the size of a shuttle, and it was flying, but there the similarities ended. The ship that had just come out of the sky was a sleek metal with purple light pulsating from two protrusions on its sides. The main body of the craft was insectile, like the carapace of a beetle. For an endless instant, it hovered there, like nothing Weyoun ever could have imagined. Then the purple light flared and the ship began moving to the west, towards Weyoun and Eris's house.

"Those are its engines," he murmured in understanding as he stared at the glowing protrusions.

The engine-light reflected in Eris's wide eyes. "But what is it?" she asked. "Where did it come from?"

Despite the fact that she'd voiced the question, her tone said she already knew where it had come from, and so Weyoun didn't bother stating the obvious: the thing, the shuttle, had entered Kurill's orbit and descended through its atmosphere to the surface of the planet.

It was an alien spacecraft, unquestionably, though he knew that neither of them could say those words. Had this ship fired the EM pulse that had taken out the communications array? Then, on the heels of that thought, Weyoun remembered the radio signal of years ago, which nothing had ever come of—no study could ever decipher it or piece it back together—but he wondered now, with trepidation, if whoever had sent that signal had done so after this ship appeared in the skies over their planet. A signal that they couldn't send now, no matter how pointless it would have been.

But then excitement took over as what he was seeing started to permeate his shock, and decisively, he said, "I have to go." This was clearly alien contact; nothing on Kurill looked anything like the ship hovering above the flat, open plain, and whoever they were, he was going to be one of the first Council members to greet them. A thrill twisted through him at the thought.

Eris grabbed his wrist. "I'm coming with you."

He met her eyes, saw that under no circumstances would she be contradicted, and nodded curtly.

The two of them rushed to the garage and Weyoun threw the skimmer's power on. Thank the Founders he'd bought the thing; they would have no hope of catching up to the ship without it. And in truth, Weyoun would later remember little of the ride; Eris watched where the ship was going and called out directions to him, and he piloted the skimmer without second-guessing her. They took roads where they existed but otherwise spent most of the time skimming over the high grass of the plain that lay between Tira City and Mount Tiryn. The skimmer wasn't built for it and they felt every bump and pothole of the uneven terrain, but it kept moving forward and eventually, they crested a low hill and Weyoun braked hard, throwing both of them against their seat restraints.

Below them, sitting on a broad, flat stretch of ground, was the ship. Its engines still glowed purple but the light seemed to be fading, and now that they were closer they could hear a deep, resonant humming, filling the air at a painfully low frequency. Steam billowed outwards from it from conduits that they couldn't see. There was no sign of life from it other than its mechanical functions.

For a long minute, neither Weyoun nor Eris did anything. Then, Weyoun cut the power to the skimmer, allowing the hum from the ship to wash over them even more pervasively.

"Well," Eris said, looking at him and taking a deep breath. "Are we going to go down there?"

He stared at the shuttle for a moment longer, then gave her a brisk nod. The two of them got out of the skimmer, moving, Weyoun couldn't help thinking wryly, as though they needed to do it as fast as possible or risk losing their nerve. As they started down the hill, the sound of other skimmers drawing near reached his ears, and he glanced over his shoulder to see a number of indistinct specks making their way over the plain towards their position. Well, he hadn't expected to be the only Vorta to come here.

They didn't speak until they got about three-quarters of the way down the hillside. Then, tramping through the knee-high grass, Eris said, "This _could _conceivably be dangerous."

"You can wait in the skimmer if you'd like."

She snorted. "Don't count on it."

Abruptly, he stopped and turned towards her, the ship still in his peripheral vision. "Promise me that if something…happens, you'll run."

She stared at him. "What do you think is going to happen?"

"Nothing. Just promise me."

For a moment, it looked like she was going to argue, but then she pressed her lips together and nodded, and the two of them continued their approach wordlessly. When they came within thirty meters of the ship, they stopped, both of them breathing heavily. The ship's low hum had stopped, so they could hear others making their ways down the hillside.

The two of them were joined, in short order, by a small crowd, no more than fifteen other Vorta. Nobody could seem to bring themselves to go any closer, or indeed to speak. The silence was loud enough, though, and Weyoun realized why it was so deafening—the plain was devoid of the birdsong that normally filled it. The only thing that broke the quiet were the intermittent noises from the alien craft.

Those minutes seemed interminable. The ship's engines were no longer glowing but for what felt like hours, nothing happened, nothing moved, and there was no indication that there was anything living in the ship. Maybe there wasn't—and Weyoun didn't know if that disappointed or relieved him.

He was far enough away from the craft that details were difficult to make out, including where a door might be, though that didn't stop him from squinting towards it. Sunlight, now that the clouds caused by the ship's atmospheric entry had dissipated, glinted off its metal carapace, reflecting a purplish-tinted metal. The arms holding the engines angled towards the ground, but the engines themselves were kept elevated by the craft's landing gear, which stretched downwards from the main body of the ship. There were no windows that he could see.

Suddenly, a hatch on the bottom of the ship opened and there was a collective held breath from the fifteen Vorta present. Weyoun started to take a step closer but Eris's hand on his shoulder stopped him. He was glad for it in a second.

Without warning, large, dark-clothed figures began dropping to the ground from the open hatch. Startled cries rang out and several Vorta stumbled backwards in fright. No one ran, but Weyoun wouldn't have blamed them if they had.

The…creatures that had come from the ship were terrifying—large, taller than any Vorta, and muscular. Even from a distance, the alien-ness of their faces was apparent—they were gray and scaly, with horns and spikes rimming their heads. Their dark clothing looked more like armor. Every one of them was holding some kind of weapon, but once they'd landed on their feet—and that was an impossible distance that they'd jumped, it would have crippled a Vorta—they simply formed into ranks and stood silently.

Once the initial shock of the creatures' appearance had passed, the assembled Vorta had grown silent again, waiting for whatever was going to happen next. There was a moment of stillness, and then a ladder was lowered from the hatch and another form, different from the reptilian creatures, descended. This figure was smaller, clothed in a gown of some unidentifiable, orange fabric. When it reached the ground and turned towards the Vorta, it became clear that it was female.

The female—the woman?—stood for a moment and said something to one of the creatures beside her. As if following a command—was she their leader?—four of the creatures formed up behind her and followed her as she approached the Vorta. As she came closer, her features became more clear. Her face was smooth and unlined, half-formed, almost, as though someone had seen a Vorta face but hadn't been able to get any of the details quite right. Her hair was slicked back, short, and colorless, and her eyes were set deep in their sockets.

She halted several meters from them and said something to one of her guards, and this time it was perfectly audible, though gibberish. Up close, the creatures were even more terrifying, huge and dour and unquestionably violent. One of their gazes fell on Weyoun and his chest tightened in fear, but he refused to let it show. The creature the woman had spoken to nodded and barked something to the others, who shifted their weapons. Weyoun felt Eris's grip on his shoulder tighten but he didn't move.

There was a silence then, deep and broken only by the sounds of the creatures' ship creaking as it cooled. Not a single shuttle or train had passed by once it had landed, and Weyoun knew that the entire planet must have been thrown into turmoil when it had appeared in Tira Exarchate's sky as the news travelled instantly over the interface. Despite the uncertainty of the moment and the presence of the terrifying…soldiers—they had to be soldiers—a rush of triumph went through him that he was here, making first contact. He was the only Council member there, the quick glance that he'd thrown at the other assembled Vorta had been enough to confirm that. None of his colleagues had gotten here in time.

The woman held out her arms, her expression impassive, and spoke—this time in their language. "Your gods have returned to you," she said in a ringing, authoritative voice.

A murmur immediately went up from the assembled Vorta. Neither Weyoun nor Eris said anything, though he glanced back at her and met her eyes. Her hand didn't leave his shoulder, but her other hand, he noticed, was laid protectively across her stomach. He didn't know what to think. What was there to think? An alien orbital had landed on their planet, disgorged dozens of monsters and this…person, claiming to be a Founder. A tendril of disbelief snaked through him, and he could tell that the Vorta around him were feeling a similar emotion. No one knew what the Founders looked like, they were changelings; shapeshifters—there was no visual representation of them anywhere, and nor had there ever been. Kurill had encountered a Founder but he'd never _described _it, and would it matter if he had?

At the lack of response to her pronouncement, the corners of the woman's mouth turned upwards slightly in a thin smile. "I see that you require proof."

With that, her whole body…_rippled_, then began changing. The fabric of her dress, her skin, her hair, all became a golden liquid that flowed amorphously for a moment, and then, suddenly, where the woman had been standing, there was a Vorta. Someone off to the side gasped, and Weyoun glanced towards the sound—and saw the very Vorta that the woman had transformed into. Then, without warning, her form rippled into golden liquid again, and suddenly, eerily, Weyoun was staring at himself. He swallowed, unnerved by the feeling of staring into his own eyes, and then there was another transformation, into another stranger, and he felt tenseness leave him to be replaced by something else: the growing realization that what he was seeing could only mean one thing.

The woman returned to her previous form, with her partially-formed face and orange dress, and then she repeated, "Your gods have returned to you."

This time, no one hesitated, and every Vorta present dropped to his or her knees and bowed their heads.

The Founders had returned to Kurill.


	10. Chapter 9

9

**60,062 **(**Kurillian calendar)**

At first, the shrines were packed to bursting with the devout. Whether services were in session or not, it didn't matter—Vorta were there, praying and celebrating; thanking the Founders for returning to them. Within days of the strange ship appearing in the sky, the Founder who had greeted them had patched into the interface and given a planetwide address, a formal greeting, to the Vorta. Most people, Weyoun and Eris included, watched from their local shrine. The silence as she spoke was absolute; the inside of the Athoun shrine, despite the present Vorta standing so close that their shoulders were nearly touching, was so quiet that it was possible to hear the candles on the altar spitting in the Founder's pauses.

After it was over, people dispersed more than they had in recent days. The monsoon had begun the afternoon before and so the shrine's large outdoor patio, with its picturesque view of Tira City's skyline in the distance and one of the Tir River's tributaries burbling beneath it, was unavailable. The shrine had a large basement, though, and a foyer with doors that led both outside and to the duraplastic-covered walkway that connected the building with its metro station. Weyoun and Eris let other Vorta flow around them as they slowly made their way to the locked patio doors.

"I can hardly believe it, still," she said, watching the rain and hail pound the paving stones outside. Turning to Weyoun, her eyes shining with emotion, she said, "Imagine—our child is going to be born into a world where the gods have returned to us."

"I can hardly believe it myself," he said.

She glanced back towards the window and murmured, "It's like a dream." Water splattered against the duraplastic, running in rivulets down the transparent pane, and their reflections stared back at them. Her image smiled slightly and Weyoun glanced at her as she said, "I know it will never be my place, but I'd love to ask them about some of the sites I've worked on over the years."

He returned the smile and said, "We'll probably never speak to any of the Founders. The clerics and the governors will do that—most likely, the Adjudicator will, also."

"I know the Founders won't trouble themselves with people like me, but you're in a position of power, at least. You might actually talk with them." Though he didn't voice his doubt again, it was still showing in his eyes, and Eris just shook her head at his lack of faith. "We'll find out soon enough." Then, flicking her eyes towards her wrist chronometer, she said, "We'd better go home if we're going to prepare anything for lunch."

"We can count on Deimos bringing something."

"We invited him over. We have to provide _something_."

When they arrived home, however, walking briskly up the covered walkway, they found Deimos already waiting for them despite it being well in advance of the hour they'd invited him for lunch. There was a large case of what clearly was food in his arms and an excited, almost frenetic gleam in his eyes. "My apologies for arriving so early—I brought lunch to atone for it."

Weyoun shot Eris a look that was half amusement and half smugness, and she smirked at him before waving her ID disc over the door panel and pushing the door open. "Come in, Deimos."

As they entered the house and went to the kitchen, Weyoun asked, "And to what do we owe the pleasure of your extremely early arrival?"

Deimos heaved the case onto the counter and waved a hand, and the question, aside. "I need a drink first."

While Eris opened a bottle of wine, declining their guest's offer to drink the one he'd brought first, Weyoun and Deimos set out the food, an impressive spread from an upscale city center takeaway that the two of them had frequented as young aides. Deimos downed a glass of wine before touching the food, though he gestured for the two of them to start eating. Then, once he'd poured himself a second glass and piled his plate, he said, "Kurill Prime."

Weyoun and Eris looked at each other. "I'm sorry?" Weyoun said.

"They're calling this planet Kurill Prime," Deimos said, his tone growing reverent. "The Founders. Officially, for them, we orbit the yellow dwarf star Kurill, we're living on the only habitable world in a system with six other orbital bodies." He paused to dip a vegetable roll in honey and take a bite out of it. "Think of it," he went on once he'd swallowed, "we're the _Kurill_ _system_. People—_aliens_, across the whole galaxy, will call us that."

Weyoun and Eris had stopped eating at the beginning of this, staring at him, and in Eris's case, holding a vegetable roll halfway between the plate and her mouth. Her eyes were round as she asked, "You've spoken with them?"

Deimos drained his second glass of wine. "I don't know why you sound so flabbergasted by the idea—you were there at first contact, weren't you?"

"The Founder didn't address any of us individually," Eris said, glancing towards Weyoun, who shook his head, confirming this.

"She didn't actually speak to me, either," Deimos admitted. He reached for the bottle of wine and poured another glass for himself. "I only spoke with her bodyguard. Just before I came here. The aliens with her—they call themselves Jem'Hadar, say the Founders created them."

"Of course the Founders created them," Weyoun said. "The Founders created us, too."

Deimos raised his eyebrows. "Not in the sense that they created us eons ago. In the sense that they _created_ the Jem'Hadar in a laboratory. They _bred_ them to be the way they are out of nothing. Have you noticed there aren't any women?"

Truthfully, Weyoun hadn't wanted to get close enough to the soldiers to notice anything about them, but their presence in Tira City—dour and prowling, their weapons held ready as though they expected to find a reason to use them around every corner—had precluded that possibility. "I'm not sure I'd be able to recognize one of their women," he said.

Deimos chuckled. "They're an intimidating bunch, I'll grant you that." He paused to eat some more, then went on, "Well, I spoke with one of them at great length on all things Jem'Hadar." Looking immensely pleased with himself—and Weyoun had to admit that the way Eris and he were staring, enraptured, was only adding to his smugness—Deimos went on, "He called himself Fourth Vitak'itlan. Apparently the 'Fourth' is a ranking; the leader of the unit is the First, the second in command is the Second, and so on. Vitak'itlan is six years old."

"_Six_?" Eris asked. "What in the world do the adults look like?"

"He _is_ an adult," Deimos said. "The Jem'Hadar are bred to be ready to fight almost immediately once they're…born, or…however it is they come into the universe. Vitak'itlan says he was in his first battle when he was three months old."

Weyoun narrowed his eyes slightly. "Who was he fighting?"

With a shrug, Deimos replied, "I didn't ask specifically. 'Enemies of the Dominion' was what he said."

"Ah, yes," Weyoun said thoughtfully. "The Dominion."

Every Vorta had first heard of the Dominion when the Founder had gone on the interface to formally greet their people. Their gods, as it turned out, were not merely gods—they were also the leaders of some kind of interstellar empire ("Didn't any of us ever stop to wonder why we call them the Founders?" Eris had asked wryly after the announcement). There were already murmurings, which were surely not lost on the Founder and her soldiers, that this 'Dominion' was what had been promised to the Vorta all those millennia ago.

Quietly, Eris said, "It's a little overwhelming to think that there's enough life out there—" she gestured vaguely towards the ceiling, and the sky beyond, "for there to be enemies of the Founders."

"It's overwhelming to think that there are aliens out there who don't know the Founders are gods," Weyoun added. Both of them looked at Deimos, and Weyoun asked, "Did this…Vitak'itlan give you any indication of how large the Dominion is?"

"Large enough for the Founders to have whole fleets of starships." At the word, Weyoun raised his eyebrows, and Deimos said, "They don't call them orbitals. It would be a bit of a misnomer, wouldn't it? They travel between the stars, not just around a single planet."

"Logical," Eris said with a small smile.

"The Jem'Hadar are nothing if not that," Deimos replied. "I'm not sure how much imagination they have, either." Eating an entire honeycake in two bites, he added, "I wonder how they'll take it when the Founders allow us to take the place they promised us in the Dominion?"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Weyoun said mildly. "They may have changed their minds."

Eris looked thoughtful, and there was an academic gleam in her eye. "It's amazing—sixty _thousand_ years ago, the Founders promised Kurill that the Vorta would become an important part of an empire. And now here they are with an empire, knowing they were here before and remembering what they told us. That sort of cultural continuity is incredible."

"They must live so long that they may as well be immortal," Deimos mused.

"Maybe they _are_ immortal," Weyoun pointed out. "There's nothing that we know that suggests otherwise."

"There's nothing we know that suggests they are," Deimos said. "They're apparently vulnerable enough to physical injury, it stands to reason they'd be vulnerable to age."

Putting her empty plate to the side, Eris said, "I suppose that's why they have the Jem'Hadar. But I can't really understand why they'd bring them _here_."

Weyoun raised his eyebrows at her. "The first time they came to this planet, a Founder was almost killed. Is it particularly shocking that they'd want protection now?"

"That wasn't _Vorta _that did that."

"They couldn't know that we wouldn't do the same thing now that we're the dominant species."

"They knew we worshipped them," Eris pointed out.

He shook his head. "They knew we considered them gods. There was no way to know how devout we are."

"There was. They could have been watching us."

Deimos was watching the two of them, looking amused. "Do the two of you argue about normal things?" he asked, interrupting their conversation.

As Eris gave him a wry smile, Weyoun said, "I'd hardly call that an argument. And yes," he said, shooting her a small smile of his own, "we have terribly normal arguments."

"You wouldn't believe the things he says about visiting my parents," she joked, still smiling.

With a shake of his head, Deimos scoffed, "Parents. That's exactly why I'm not married. My own parents are enough for me, the last thing I need is another set."

It didn't escape Weyoun's notice that the minute Eris had pointed out that their planet may have been under surveillance, the conversation had shifted in another direction. He let it. They lived on a different world than they had a week ago—and not just metaphorically. Kurill _Prime_. He'd have to get used to thinking of it that way, if that was what the Founders called their planet.

Brushing Eris's elbow with his hand, Weyoun gave her a smile that was probably too private for company, even Deimos, and said, "I think the trade-off has been worth it."

Shaking his head again, this time in mock-exasperation, Deimos said, "You know, if I'd had any idea that the two of you would be this insufferably in love with each other after all this time, I'd never have introduced you."

"And have we thanked you recently?" Eris asked sardonically.

"Not nearly profusely enough. Think of it, without me the two of you might never have found one another. You'll be naming your child after me, yes?"

Weyoun snorted and replied, "You can be the Bearer on the naming day, if that's satisfactory?" This was actually something Eris and him had discussed, but he hadn't found a good way to bring it up with Deimos. When they'd asked him to witness their marriage it had been awkwardly emotional enough—it was better, with Deimos, to simply announce these things to him and not give him a chance to go on about what an honor it was to cover up the fact that he was honestly touched.

Of course, Deimos couldn't completely hide that he _was_ touched, but all he said was, "Yes, that would be fine."

The three of them finished their lunch and let talk turn to other things, most significantly the fact that Deimos was scheduled to go up on the first extraplanetary orbital in the coming months. Eris looked mildly horrified at that. "Aren't there a number of…" She glanced at Weyoun, who raised an eyebrow at her, before she went on, "…corners being cut?"

With a shrug, Deimos said, "I'd rather the orbitals get built. If we have to leave some non-essential items out because the money isn't there, so be it. The cold hard truth is that all of these secondary safety measures that we'd built in wouldn't do anyone any good once the ship leaves orbit. And," he added, "that's why I'll be on the first mission. I don't mind taking risks that I'd never ask my subordinates to take."

"I'll try to remain optimistic that you'll _be_ here for the baby's naming day."

"That's the spirit, Eris." Deimos raised his glass to her, and for a moment the three of them were silent, content simply to enjoy each other's company.

Finally, Eris shifted on the sectional, pulling her feet up underneath her and placing her plate on the ground. "I wonder why they came?" she said quietly, and despite the fact that the conversation had moved on, there was no question that she was talking about the Founders. "Do they want to stay here?"

Weyoun nodded to Deimos. "You can ask your Jem'Hadar friend."

"Vitak'itlan?" Deimos made a face. "I wouldn't go so far as to call him my friend. I doubt the Jem'Hadar _have_ friends, quite honestly, and I don't think he'll tell me why the Founders came here. But I can ask." He shrugged. "And if they're staying—there are far worse things than gods choosing our planet to live on, even if they _did_ have to bring their dour genetic experiments with them."

"True." Weyoun raised his own glass. "To the Founders, then—if it's what they're looking for, may they find Kurill Prime a suitable home." Eris and Deimos echoed the gesture. Their world may have been very different, but it was, unquestionably, better.

* * *

Weyoun hadn't exactly gotten _used_ to the Jem'Hadar. But he saw them every day and they never seemed to interact with anyone. They just…watched. Which was unnerving, but he no longer started upon rounding a corner in the skyways and seeing one, and he didn't go out of his way anymore to avoid passing them too closely. They were, of course, unsettling, the way they just stared without speaking, and their alien-ness was still jarring. But given several more months, he thought they might just become part of the scenery to him.

Then, one morning, they were in the Council chamber.

There was a mild uproar when Weyoun entered, and rather than be drawn into one of the many indignant discussions going on around the chamber, he made a beeline for the Adjudicator, who was deep in conversation with one of the Jem'Hadar. She waved him off when he tried to approach, but he was close enough to hear the Adjudicator say, "Of course we understand that you're here on the Founder's orders. But _you_ must understand that we are peaceful legislators and we _cannot_ have weapons in this chamber. It's perfectly acceptable for you to observe, but you must leave the…_guns_…outside."

"I doubt you can provide a place that I would feel secure leaving our weapons," the Jem'Hadar said, a hint of a mirthless smile on his face. So they _could_ smile. Interesting. It was a shame that this demonstration of that fact wasn't particularly friendly. "I am concerned that your people might see our superior technology and take it for themselves."

Weyoun could see the Adjudicator drawing herself up in outrage, but she, like the rest of them, wouldn't argue too vociferously with any Jem'Hadar. After all, they were the Founder's envoys. If what Deimos had said was true, then the Founders had created them wholesale. That made Weyoun wonder, suddenly, if the Jem'Hadar knew that the Founders were gods. Wouldn't they have to?

The Adjudicator looked towards Weyoun. She would know that he could hear this conversation. She held one of the most powerful positions in the government, but it was even possible for her to do the wrong thing and for her to lose that position. Angering the Founders' servants might just be that thing.

She sighed and nodded to the Jem'Hadar. "You have nothing to worry about. However, I understand that our customs are unfamiliar to you and that you're in an alien place. You may keep your weapons—this time."

The Jem'Hadar gave her that same mirthless smile and, before he turned around to march up the center aisle, he said, with an air of vague and cryptic insult, "I have been in much more alien places."

Vorta were well-attuned to such subtleties, and there was no doubt that the Adjudicator recognized the barely-concealed contempt in the Jem'Hadar's voice. However, she didn't say anything as he went, instead just looking at Weyoun and snapping, "Please take your seat, Senator Uldron. Proceedings will begin shortly."

He nodded and did as she said, and for one of the few times in his career, barely paid attention to the daily proceedings. He suspected he wasn't alone—many of the senators seemed more focused on the five Jem'Hadar standing stiffly at attention against the walls than on anything that was being said in the session. Weyoun made himself stand up and say something that felt important when he was considering it, though afterwards he couldn't have said what it was.

Even though the Jem'Hadar were too far away to be able to clearly read their facial expressions, he could see that that the one that had been…disagreeing with the Adjudicator—was he in charge? The First, as Deimos had said the leaders were called?—staring intently at him. He wasn't sure how he felt about being the subject of such intense scrutiny by a Jem'Hadar.

When the session came to a sputtering end, Weyoun joined the throng of senators as they filed into the corridor, many of whom were still muttering about the intrusion of the Jem'Hadar. In the end, they hadn't really _been_ much of an intrusion, but politicians were experts at finding problems.

He was about to turn down the hallway that led to the side stairway closest to his office, when a tall and imposing form stepped in front of him.

"The Founder wishes to speak to you," said the Jem'Hadar First who had just blocked Weyoun's path. He sounded as though he couldn't imagine why—not that Weyoun blamed him, as he couldn't either. "Come with me."

Weyoun didn't move. "The Founder? What could she possibly want to speak to me about?"

"That is irrelevant," the Jem'Hadar replied. "She has ordered your presence. Follow me."

Without saying another word, the Jem'Hadar began walking away. There was no choice but to follow him. As they walked, Weyoun's heart gave a thump of mingled excitement and trepidation. He had no idea what he'd done to catch the attention of the Founder. Did she want something from him? It was a worrying thought. What could he possibly do for a god?

Whatever it was, he was about to find out, because he turned a corner, trailing the Jem'Hadar First slightly, and saw that the other four Jem'Hadar who had been in the Council chamber were standing around a much smaller figure. The Founder. He felt his steps falter, but then he reminded himself that he wasn't a coward and followed the Jem'Hadar until he was standing in front of his god.

"The senator you asked for," the Jem'Hadar said to her.

Immediately, Weyoun bowed and spread his arms out. "Founder," he said reverently, hardly daring to look at her.

There was silence for a moment, and he flicked his eyes upwards to see if he could read her expression.

He couldn't. Her face was devoid of any of the tics that he normally was so adept at deciphering, and that made something in him shy away in alarm, despite the fact that he'd been worshipping her people for his entire life. She was so _alien_. Even though the Jem'Hadar were unlike him, he could understand them at a basic humanoid level. But she was different, and that same unsettled feeling that had come over him at first contact snaked through him now.

"Walk with me," the Founder finally said in a calm, cool tone. Weyoun hesitated, then fell into step beside her. He tried not to let the Jem'Hadar make him nervous as they silently kept pace behind the two of them. "Do you have a name?" she finally asked him in the same calm tone, once they'd walked in silence for several minutes.

He flicked a glance at her from under lowered eyelids, unable to tell if this was sarcasm or a genuine query. The Founder herself didn't seem to have a name. Weyoun supposed gods didn't have need of them. "It's Weyoun," he said.

"Weyoun," the Founder repeated, as though the sounds were strange to her. They probably were. He wondered how often she took this form, how often she spoke out loud. "And you serve in the Council, Weyoun?"

"Yes," he said, keeping his eyes lowered deferentially.

"Are you an influential member of it?"

"I'm only a junior senator—"

"That is not what I asked. Are you an influential member of the Council?"

He hesitated, then replied, "I'm Tira Exarchate's junior senator. It's a powerful province. So—yes." The Founder nodded but didn't say anything else, and for what felt like a long time, they continued walking in silence. Weyoun followed her, unsure where she was going but unwilling to take the lead. Finally, however, the silence began to unnerve him. Glancing at her from beneath his lowered eyelids, he began hesitantly, "You speak our language very well, Founder. So do the Jem'Hadar."

The statement seemed to amuse her. "We have been observing your planet for some time," she replied. So Eris had been correct on that count. "I suppose I have absorbed it inadvertently. As for the Jem'Hadar, I asked them to learn your tongue. We must communicate somehow."

Suddenly, she stopped walking, and for a minute she studied her surroundings. They'd stopped in the Complex's entryway, a huge, domed space, built to impress. The Founder didn't look particularly impressed, though she said, "I take it that this is where the public enters your capitol building." When he nodded, that seemed to amuse her, and she said, whether to him or just to herself, he couldn't tell, "Solids—so very predictable." Even if the statement had been directed towards him, he was quite sure that she didn't require or want an answer. He remained silent until she addressed him again, which she did after gazing around for a few more moments. "Tell me about this planet," she said.

Weyoun blinked at the unexpectedness of this question, then lowered his gaze and said, "Forgive me, Founder, but if you've been observing us, I don't know what I can tell you that you don't already know about us."

"I wish to hear it described in a native's words. The Jem'Hadar are limited by their nature, and I have not spent enough time here to become enough of a Vorta so that I can know it more directly."

He wondered what she meant by that. However, there wasn't time at the moment to think about it, because she was staring at him, not expectantly, because that would have required a capacity for expression that she didn't possess, but with the unmistakable expectation that he was going to answer her, and quickly.

How could he boil his entire people and planet down to a single sentence, or even several sentences? Who _were_ the Vorta? He'd never had to think about it before. There was nothing else. Now the universe was closer than it had ever been and the Vorta were just one of innumerable species spread throughout the stars. They were nothing special. They were not unique. The Founder and her Jem'Hadar may have—probably had—seen people like him hundreds of times over.

Still, she'd asked, and he needed to answer.

"We worship the Founders," he said. "We worship you, and your people, and try to lead the lives you'd want us to lead."

"But how could you possibly know what we want?" she asked, sounding amused, and not in a comforting way.

It had been a presumptuous and arrogant way to put it, he supposed. "We can't," Weyoun admitted. "But—we try not to harm each other or other creatures, after what happened the first time your people came to our planet."

"Because you think that's what we would want?" she asked, still sounding amused.

"Yes."

The Founder stared at him. "And what if I told you that we do not care what Solids do to each other? That you are all the same to us, and we view you the same way you view your dairy animals and bees and fowl?"

He felt his face freeze. For all his politician's diplomatic skill, for all the times he'd felt his way through a conversation on the strength of his ability to read other people, he was at a loss here. Even if she wasn't a shapeshifter, she was his _god_. It was all he could do to speak, let alone contemplate a statement that could profoundly shake the foundation of his faith. At the heart of that faith was the basic belief that they _cared_—that they had made a promise to Kurill all those millennia ago to return and to raise the Vorta to a higher place in the universe, and now that they'd kept half that promise, the rest of it wasn't far behind. Because hadn't the Vorta been good worshippers? It had been sixty thousand years and they'd never wavered. Was her question a thinly veiled statement of truth, or was she testing him, somehow?

She was studying him closely. "You would rather not hear such a thing," she observed.

"I…no, Founder. I would rather not."

There was a look on her face that unnerved him until he realized it was a smile—but even then, that was small comfort. She began walking again, tracing a slow circle around the foyer. There was a wide, clear path all around them, and Weyoun tried to ignore the stares their small group was drawing. Later, if this went well, he could use this as leverage. At the moment, though, he wasn't sure it was going well at all. "Then I will not tell you that," she said, and he wondered if it was because it wasn't what she thought, or if she pitied him.

He glanced back at the Jem'Hadar, none of whom were looking at him. And yet, they were clearly watching him, making sure he didn't threaten the Founder in some way. Their hostility was obvious, even if they _were_ aliens. He wondered if it was something about him, considering Deimos had struck up a conversation with one of them. But then again, the First had been openly contemptuous to the Adjudicator. Deimos was probably the anomaly. His ability to make people talk to him was unparalleled.

Was she going to ask him anything else? Had he passed the test, if, indeed, she was testing him? This moment of silence seemed to be stretching forever, and all he could do was think of questions, some that he'd never ask her, and others that he desperately wanted to. Her divinity—and the Jem'Hadar—stopped him. But when she turned her head to stare at him, something made him take a deep breath and say, "May I ask you something, Founder?"

To his surprise, she nodded. "You may."

Weyoun flicked his eyes upwards, glancing at her face but unable to meet her eyes. "Do you have a home? A…planet…where the rest of the Founders live?"

She looked at him, the same impassive expression on her face that she'd worn throughout the conversation, but the same sense of vague amusement exuding from her, as well. With an abrupt, sickening certainty, he knew the question had been a foolish idea, and he opened his mouth to apologize for his forwardness; extricate himself from this conversation somehow, but then the Founder said, "The Great Link does reside on a planet, yes."

_The Great Link_. It was a tantalizing and unfamiliar phrase, and though Weyoun knew it wasn't his place to ask her, he still found himself saying, "The Great Link, Founder?"

"That is the name for our…" She seemed to be searching for the word. "…collective."

"Is it very far from here?" he asked, still not meeting her eyes.

There was a pause, and for a second Weyoun was sure that he really _had_ overstepped his bounds. The Jem'Hadar behind them loomed larger and more hulking than ever. But miraculously, the Founder didn't seem offended or annoyed. In fact, she stopped walking momentarily to look upwards towards the skylights ringing the foyer's dome, and he took the opportunity to watch her. "Far enough," she said, and then she looked back towards him, surprising him into meeting her eyes.

Just for that instant, he felt blasphemously as though he understood her a little, despite having only spoken to her for a few minutes, despite the fact that she was a god and her thoughts and motivations were beyond his comprehension. But he saw, in her eyes, a being who loved her people and her home and felt every moment away from both acutely. "Though to the Jem'Hadar," she added, "it isn't far at all."

She began walking again, and Weyoun moved to stay in step with her. "I believe my homeworld is visible in your night sky," she said without further prompting. "It is located within the Omarion Nebula."

Weyoun started and without meaning to, met her eyes again, though this time he quickly averted his gaze. "We…just call it the Nebula," he said. Incredible. He'd been staring up at his gods' homeworld for his entire life. "We can't see anything else," he added. "Just the moons and the Nebula, so it never seemed to need a name, I suppose." That sounded ridiculous when said out loud, but then, if the Founders had built an empire amongst the stars, they probably had heard quite a number of ridiculous things from the other races that were part of that empire.

The Founder, however, didn't have much of a reaction at all, except to say, "I'm surprised you have not made adjustments to correct your eyesight."

"Why would we?" he asked, confused. There were no corrections to be made. Vorta eyesight was what it was, and there was remarkably little variation in it. Occasionally a Vorta would have better vision than normal. It tended, for some reason, to be women.

She stared at him for a moment, then replied, "I was under the impression that your people have an advanced understanding of genetic research."

Hoping it wasn't immodest, he replied, "We do. But—forgive me, I'm not a scientist—I think what you're suggesting would require major genetic therapy, and that isn't legal."

"Not legal?" the Founder asked, sounding surprised.

He opened his mouth to begin to explain the labyrinth of reasons and mores and legalities, but then closed it, hesitated, and finally said, "It's been illegal my whole life. I understand there were some beneficial medical procedures that came from the research, but on the whole…" He hesitated again. "I suppose it didn't seem…right…to change ourselves."

"Yet you clone yourselves."

"Only when infertility is an insurmountable problem."

"Which," she said, "it seems often to be."

With another hesitation, he replied, "Yes. It is."

She didn't reply to that, and after a moment, one of the Jem'Hadar approached her and said something in their language. She responded shortly and with a nod, and then replied, "My loyal guard points out that I have been away from my ship for too long."

"Of course," Weyoun said, bowing his head.

Her eyes slid away from him as though he'd never held her attention at all, and she began to walk away with the Jem'Hadar. Then, unexpectedly, she turned and stared at him. "We must be very different than what you've always thought we would be," she said.

He realized, abruptly, that she was far more intimidating than the Jem'Hadar, and that he was terrified of saying the wrong thing. "I never had the imagination to think of what you'd be like," he replied. She stared at him, that tiny smile on her face, and walked away, the Jem'Hadar behind and in front of her. He knew she hadn't believed him.

* * *

The last place that Weyoun expected to find himself, three days later, was standing in the Adjudicator's office with Soltoi and Foros, arguing with the leader of the Council about what appeared to be an arbitrary and ill-advised rescheduling of their budgetary session. The three senators from every exarchate held a budgetary session once a year with the fiscal committee. At that time, funds were allocated to each exarchate for the year, making it one of the most important meetings a senator would attend. And Tira Exarchate's session had been delayed.

It was one of the few things that could unite even Tira's adversarial senators. Tira was a wealthy exarchate, but it needed money, and all three of them were very aware of it.

"This is outrageous," Soltoi said coldly, staring at the Adjudicator. The three of them had already been butting heads with her for a quarter of an hour. They had tried reasonableness. They were quickly devolving into irritation. "We've already had to delay the budgetary session, and now you're telling me—us," she allowed, nodding at Weyoun and Foros, "—that it will be delayed _again_? Tira is approaching a fiscal crisis and we cannot afford to keep putting it off."

Foros held a hand up and Soltoi stopped speaking, looking at him. "If I may?" he asked her, and she nodded curtly. "Adjudicator," he said, "Tira Exarchate's local government is going to be facing a shutdown if we can't supply a budget, which we obviously can't until we hold a session with the budget committee. I understand that the Founders' return has thrown everything somewhat…out of sorts, but our government must continue to function."

"We do still _have_ a functioning government?" Soltoi asked the Adjudicator with a sarcastically raised eyebrow.

Weyoun, his arms crossed over his chest while he watched the thin line of the Adjudicator's lips tighten further with each word, said pointedly, "In case you've forgotten, most of the money to combat the Kiyu Riots came from our budget. That wasn't tenable then and the entire Council knew it, and now we're being put on the hook for it without opportunity to re-draft our budget."

"I am not going to debate fiscal policy with the three of you," the Adjudicator said, clearly trying to maintain her calm. "A plenary session has been called for tomorrow morning and Tira Exarchate's budgetary session will be rescheduled. This is not up for discussion." When the three of them all began arguing at once, her eyes hardened and she smacked a palm down on the table. The violence of the action, more than the sound itself, subdued them, and when the Adjudicator spoke again, she sounded markedly more severe. "Are you legislators or are you children?" she demanded.

There was an awkward silence, and then Weyoun said, "Our apologies, Adjudicator. My colleagues and I simply want to do what's best for our exarchate. Surely we can find some solution to this…dilemma?"

"The solution," the Adjudicator replied, "is for the three of you to attend the plenary session tomorrow. We will reschedule the budgetary session at a time that is conducive to all of you and the committee." Before any of them could object again, she picked a padd up and held it out. "As you can see, I have very little choice in the matter."

Foros took the padd and both Weyoun and Soltoi moved in to see what was on it. The first half was taken up by lines and roundels with crescents cut out of them, connected by horizontal lines. Below that was, Weyoun realized, a translation into Kurillian.

"The Founder will be addressing the Council at 10:00," the Adjudicator said, and it was clear from her tone that they were being dismissed. "I have therefore called for the session to begin ten minutes earlier."

There was another heavy silence as all three of them considered, and then dismissed, the idea of arguing further. There had been an unspoken command in the Adjudicator's voice, and, unwillingly, they finally obeyed it and tacitly filed out her offices.

"I must admit," Soltoi said curtly, once they'd stepped into the quiet section of corridor where the Adjudication offices lay, "that this is not what I expected when I watched that Jem'Hadar ship fly across the sky."

"None of us knew what to expect," Foros said.

Weyoun stared down the hallway distractedly for a moment, his mind elsewhere, before he turned back to his colleagues. "What could the Founder want to address all of us about?" he asked.

Soltoi's lips thinned as she looked at him, though when she spoke, her tone was bland. "Why don't you tell us? You _are_ the one, after all, who had a private conversation with her."

"When a god wants to speak with you, you don't say no," Weyoun replied, trying to keep the edge out of his voice as well as Soltoi had.

Her expression twitched, but she nodded curtly. "I suppose I'll see the two of you tomorrow," she said. "Let's hope that the Adjudicator deigns to reschedule the budgetary session soon, or there won't be any point in any of us coming to work at all." With that, she strode off down the corridor, leaving Weyoun and Foros standing outside the offices.

Foros glanced at him. "I don't suppose you _do_ have any idea what the Founder's address might be about?"

Shaking his head, Weyoun replied, "If I could tell what the Founder was thinking, I'd be much more than a junior senator on a world that's apparently something of a galactic backwater."

With a chuckle, Foros said, "I suppose that's true." Then, he sighed. "We'll see tomorrow." There was an edge to his voice that sounded too much like trepidation, but Weyoun ignored that and told himself he was misreading his mentor. After all, if the Founder was addressing the Council, there was nothing to be anxious about.

* * *

At the best of times, only about two-thirds of the Council was present. Votes could be sent in via interface; senators didn't always feel like attending every session. So when a plenary session was called, the din in the main council chamber was enormous. With three hundred and twelve senators from all one hundred and four exarchates present, in addition to as many runners and aides that could stuff themselves through the side door, and all of them unable to stop talking, the level of noise was painful.

The Adjudicator did nothing to silence it as she normally would have, she simply sat at the podium, her hands folded in front of her, and stared out at the chamber. Weyoun, watching her with half an eye while most of his attention was focused on the conversation he was holding with Foros, wondered how many senators knew what Tira Exarchate's did—that the Founder had asked her to call the session. He glanced discreetly at his wrist chronometer, noting that the scheduled minute for the Founder's remarks was drawing near, and then looked up quickly as the chamber fell silent in a wave, Vorta nearest the entrance quieting and the hush spreading outwards through the chamber from them as the Founder, with her ever-present escort of Jem'Hadar, entered.

Every eye in the chamber stayed locked on her as she made her way up to the podium. The Adjudicator stood, bowed briefly, and then stepped down, yielding the floor to the Founder. That, in itself, was a sign of the Founder's divinity—the Adjudicator never left her place in the chamber, never allowed anyone to occupy it in her stead.

When the Founder had taken the Adjudicator's place at the podium and the Jem'Hadar had arrayed themselves in front of her and to either side, she stared impassively around the chamber for a long moment before speaking. There wasn't a sound. Weyoun could hear his colleagues' breathing, even their heartbeats, as they all waited.

"I will be brief," the Founder said into the deathly quiet chamber. There was another long silence while she stared out at all of them. "We have traveled among the stars for many eons," she finally said. "In our travels, we have learned much of the universe, and of the many beings that inhabit it. The galaxy, even this small part of it, is a dangerous, chaotic place."

She paused to let these words sink in, but no one moved. "This is why we formed the Dominion—with our Jem'Hadar allies, we can protect ourselves from the many dangers the universe holds. We can bring order to the chaotic and savage wilds of space."

Placing her hands flat on the podium, she went on, "We do not offer membership spuriously. A people who become part of the Dominion must bring something to it. And that is why I am here today." The entire Council seemed to hold its breath waiting for her next words. "Your people's cloning expertise would be a great asset to the Dominion, and as such, we are prepared to offer Kurill Prime entry."

A low murmur that even the presence of a god couldn't contain immediately filled the chamber, and the Founder let it go on for a moment before holding up a hand for silence. It fell again immediately. "We do not demand your answer at once. Discuss it. Come to your decision. We will be waiting, and we hope to welcome you to our empire."

With that, she stepped down from the podium. The Jem'Hadar re-formed around her, and she walked swiftly out of the chamber. The doors banged shut behind her, and then no one could remain silent any longer as the chamber erupted into loud conversation.

And Weyoun knew, without speaking to anyone, that the Vorta would join the Dominion. _He_ would see to it, no matter what the cost.


End file.
